


Halo: Requital of Dissension

by PhoenixTracer77



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Aliens, Gen, Violence, War, covenant, scifi, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 14:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 80,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTracer77/pseuds/PhoenixTracer77
Summary: On the colony world Haven, ODST squad Bravo Two fight to defend it from the bloodthirsty Covenant armada.





	1. New Arrivals

Looks like we’re getting visitors N’golo thought, leaning against a curved wooden fence, glaring out into the distance. In the clear blue air, he saw individual specks of black, growing larger every second.   
Eric Stevens looked up from the piles of documents laid before him. His subordinate walked across the dusty courtyard towards his open doorway, curling his fingers at Eric. Gathering the documents, he slid them into the frayed plastic cover and placed them into the desk. He was sat in a small office, little more than a glorified shipping crate. The steel box had been raised off of the ground, supported by a stack of weathered, blasted sandstone. The temporary windows were tinted to reduce the heat from the blasting sun. Overachieving air conditioning was all that kept him sane.  
Eric looked out of the door “N’golo, you could have just shouted.” He glanced at the pistol sat on his desk, giving it a moment to mull in his mind before he snatched it up and planted it safely in the aged leather holster. He lifted his cap, running a hand over his sweaty head, putting it back on along with a pair of reinforced sunglasses.   
He walked out the door and was taken aback by the heat. “Fuck me, I hate this planet,”   
“You have a way with words, don’t you Sergeant?” Gretel Koenig remarked, striding out from behind the office block. “Gretel, you could use my name sometimes. And don’t tell me you can stand this heat,”  
“I never claimed I could, I’m simply stating you could have been a little more eloquent.” Eric groaned and turned to N’golo. He had no problem with the heat, growing up on a planet in the same system. “What did you ask me out here for?”  
“We got visitors. Two Pelicans from the looks of it. Oh, they’re about here now,” N’golo pointed at the two olive coloured aircraft descending from the sky. “Everyone, form up on me. Got someone to see us.” Stevens announced through his earpiece.   
Moments later, the entire base had arrived. The twenty or so soldiers that amassed in a line were an unruly bunch, owing to the fact that many were disrupted from duties without warning.   
Eric stood at the front of the two rows, his hands held patiently behind his back. As the closest Pelican landed, it tossed up plumes of sand and dust, blinding the troops and billowing irritating sand at them. When the engines cooled, the icy air from the cargo bay opening was a sweet relief to Eric. Snapping his heels together he raised his hand in a salute. “Ma’am,”  
“As you were, Staff Sergeant,” The voice inside said  
“Captain Ball, I apologise. If I had known you were coming, I would have made our outpost a more presentable standard,” Eric apologised, lowering his hand and relaxing. “Staff Sergeant, as I understand it, Lieutenant Dreft is in command of Outpost Bravo Niner?”  
“That is correct ma’am, however he is currently securing the perimeter. In his absence, I was standing in as commanding officer. If you would follow me into the Lieutenant’s quarters, I can explain more there?”  
“Lead the way Sergeant.”  
A few minutes later, Eric was sat in the office, flanked on either side by Gretel and N’golo. Jean Ball was sat opposite him, two Marines guarding the door. Outside, the soldiers had resumed their duties. Lookouts glanced through binoculars across the plateau, some soldiers played basketball in the courtyard. Others refuelled the Pelican. Most however were inside the barracks trying to keep cool and rest. “Captain, the Lieutenant is currently scouting the perimeter, as I said. I have sent for a soldier to retrieve him so you may speak,”  
“Thank you, Sergeant, you are most kind,”  
“Now, if you could explain the current situation and circumstances of your visit?”  
“Ah, well. You see, as you are aware, the ODST corps is crucially undermanned. I have elected to bring in some new recruits. I am certain you will be glad to have Bravo Two back up to an operating potential.”  
It was true. For almost a month now, Eric and his squad had been sat in this outpost, playing in the sand, waiting for a mission. The problem was, their last deployment had resulted in two casualties. A three-man squad is undermanned and unfit for duty, so he was like a racehorse, geared up and ready to go, at the opportunity to continue working again. He attempted to hide his giddiness from the Captain. “I see. But why come here to tell us this? Surely anyone could have told us.”  
“Well, to be honest, I’m as bored as you are, so I need the exercise. In addition to this, I chose the recruits for your squad. They are the correct roles. Both inexperienced, but this is another reason for my visit. The newly reinforced Bravo Two, alongside the Lieutenant and a squad of his choosing, will embark on a live fire training cross reconnaissance mission,” Jean sipped from a flask of water. Eric nodded, doing the same. “I understand. If I may, I would like to see the new recruits. You may join us until the lieutenant returns.”  
“That is an excellent decision. Once again, lead the way.”  
Back outside, the trio were disappointed. They were silent at first, on account of the captain’s presence. As soon as Dreft returned however, they began to voice their opinions. “Fucking hell, are they accepting anyone these days?” N’golo muttered, staring at the two soldiers stood in front of them. One was a man, barely in shape. He was sweating profusely, his baggy clothes stained under the armpits. The other was a woman. Barely. She looked more like a girl. Thin and reedy, she was bizarrely wearing a full-length shirt in the blistering heat. They all noticed her posture, balancing out a rigid prosthetic leg.   
“Identify yourselves,” Gretel said, looking at the man first.  
“I’m Simon Ewart ma’am,” He said feebly, panting in the heat. Gretel nodded, noticing the worry in his voice. “And you?” She asked the other  
“Corporal Dimitra Simonides. Ma’am.” The girl sounded more confident. In fact, she never broke her stare. She had a straight back and arms behind her back, folded. The same pose Eric had worn earlier. Observant. “I see. I am Lance Corporal Gretel Koenig. This is Sergeant N’golo Arendse, and the man at the front is Staff Sergeant Eric Stevens.” Gretel inclined her head at each one she mentioned.  
“At ease, soldiers,” Eric said, pacing from side to side. “I assume you are unaware of our purpose here. We are ODST’s. Helljumpers. We are the best of the best, bar none. I expect of you the best, which is why we have been selected for a mission. Follow me.”  
They stepped inside the training room. It was blissfully cold. They instantly became more comfortable in the temperature. The polished floor squeaked as the two recruit’s fresh leather boots walked over it. “Now, I am going to put you through a series of tests to observe your skills. Then, Sergeant Arendse will assess your marksmanship, ability to field strip equipment, and your overall proficiency with weaponry and gear. Finally, Lance Corporal Koenig will take you aside and give you a full psychiatric evaluation. Am I understood?”   
“Sir, yes sir,” They echoed back.  
“Good. Let’s get started.” Eric cracked his knuckles.

Over the course of the next few hours, he drilled them in fitness, speed, endurance, strength and countless other tests. Simon was passable, but often distracted, ending in multiple lectures from Eric, all of which quietly amused N’golo. Dimitra was more promising, succeeding in all areas. She fell short in marksmanship, but Simon caught up here. In demolitions and survival, Dimitra was again in the lead.   
Eventually, the time had come for their evaluations. It was a scene straight from a movie. Two chairs outside of an office. They were nervous, each of them. Shaking, either from heat or exhaustion. “So. All it’s cracked up to be?” Simon asked  
“Hm?”  
“The military, training, all that. You’re in the same boat as me, right? Who’d choose to come here.” Before she could respond, the door slid open and N’golo stepped out.  
“The doctor will see you now,” N’golo said mockingly, grinning. He’d always wanted to say that. Simon gulped, motioned for Dimitra to go first. She scoffed, storming inside.  
Gretel was sat in the sparse room, reading some notes. As she saw Dimitra walk in, she folded them shut and slid the steel draw on her desk shut. “Good afternoon, Corporal. Close the door and have a seat.” Dimitra complied. “Obedience, excellent. From what I have read on your file, it’s a trait of yours.” Gretel paused for a moment, standing up. She walked towards a filing cabinet, opening a draw and pulling out a folder. “Interesting read. Something out of a comic book. Child prodigy almost,”  
“I’m unsure I’d call myself that. Hardworking, more like.”  
“Quite. Now, I remember reading that you…grew up on Eridanus IV correct?”  
“That’s correct. And next you’ll ask me where I went to school, university, all of that. In short, it’s all correct. Can we hurry this up?”  
“Impressive. You are intelligent, but also impatient. Who’d have thought? Now, I’d like to ask you why you joined.”  
The question caused Dimitra to freeze for a short moment, but enough for Gretel to notice. “Why else? To defend humanity.”  
“Is that so? Because, and I understand I am stereotyping, but for such an intelligent and devoted scholar such as yourself to suddenly turn to gung ho violence?” Gretel glanced curiously at her. “It’s a little out of character,”  
“Neither of us outwardly appear combatants, doctor. And circumstances change, so if we may change the subject?” Dimitra said defensively, rubbing her forearm. Something seemed off about her closeted nature... The file was right of course, she wanted to defend Earth. Only, something about this seemed familiar. “Dimitra, I’m a psychologist. A very good one. I know when someone is lying, or trying to hide something.”  
“What might I have to hide?”  
“Being an insurrectionist, psychopathic tendencies, being mentally unhinged, the list goes on.” The Grecian woman’s ears seemed to prick at the mention of mentality.  
“I feel your interest in my motivation is unrequired.”  
“You would be incorrect. It is quite necessary. Now, answer the question. And be honest.”  
With a slow sigh, Dimitra leant back in her chair. “Make yourself comfortable, this may take some time.” Gretel nodded, leaning in eagerly. She almost pulled out her pencil and pad, but, with the hassle it had been to get her to talk in the first place, recording it would be result in more pulling teeth. “I assume the file details my work in a chemical plant? The burns from the chemical fire broke me a little. I needed a release.” She spat the words out like they hurt to be in her mouth. “I couldn’t stand to look at that place, the building that had practically been my home for years. So, I left. Packed my bags and came here.” Gretel took a short second to compose her thoughts, speaking slowly. Carefully.  
“Dimitra, thank you for sharing that with me. I know it must have been difficult”  
“I feel…better” She didn’t, at all. If anything, she now felt worse. Not only had she passed on her problems to someone else, but she felt terrible for even feeling them in the first place. It took all her strength not to scream at Gretel for spewing the same self-help bullshit she herself had planned in case anyone she ever knew happened upon feelings like this. “That’s good. You’ve made progress at least. Was there any reason in particular you chose the military? I understand you wished to leave the chemical industry, but why become a soldier? Surely, there are less dangerous professions?”   
“I came for a change of scenery,” Dimitra lied.   
Gretel didn’t believe it. At all. Partly a talent of hers. Lies didn’t tend to go well with her. Party because Dimitra’s deepest desires were on file. Smothered in black ink, but Gretel had still read them. Because she had her ways. She also knew it was a lie partly due to that being too perfect an excuse. The other was, nobody released truth from trauma this eagerly. Even so, she now knew there was an ulterior motive and she would find it out. Later.   
Gretel scribbled a note down, then looked up cheerily at Dimitra. “I expect to see you again after our first deployment, and we will assess any issues you find. For now, return to Sergeant Arendse.”  
Dimitra walked out in a significantly happier mood, having escaped the interrogation. “Next,” Gretel called out. Simon quickly walked in and sat down, slamming the door shut in his haste. “Good evening Private. I see you have already had a seat,”  
“Oh, was I not meant to? Sorry, I-” He started to stand, but Gretel waved him down.   
“Calm down. There is nothing wrong with that. Simon. May I call you Simon?”  
“Of course, Fraulein Koenig,” Simon replied quietly. Gretel raised her eyebrows in surprise. “German is appreciated, private. Although you should really call me doctor,”  
“Es tut uns leid Doctor,” Simon said  
“Apology accepted. With that out of the way, do you mind telling me how you know German?” Gretel smiled at him, seeing an opportunity to make him more comfortable and lower his defenses.  
“Yeah, I can do. My Mam and Dad own a load of hotels and villas and stuff, tourist things. So, lots of tourists. I met this one family, German. They had a daughter, my age mind, and she taught me a little bit,”  
“I see. Guten. Now, why did you join the UNSC?” Gretel knew the answer of course, it was on his file. She wanted to see if he would lie.  
“No choice really. I got caught out joyriding, wasn’t my idea. My mate rolled up one day in a new car, said it was his. I got in, already a bit tipsy. Then, I take a few more drinks with me, black out, and before I knew it, BAM! Wake up in a cell, associating with a criminal. Get given the choice to either spend time in prison, or join the army. I chose the last one,”  
“Understandable. You seem to be full of stories, Simon,”  
“Spend enough time with enough people, you get a few.”  
“Well, I can’t agree with your arrival, but I can see you feel motivated. I’ll see you again after our first deployment, to determine your reaction to conflict.”  
“Cheers doctor,” He said cheerily as he left.  
Eric was facing the window, peering out from his curtains at the sun, sinking beneath the rolling desert sands. It was an amber ball, sending stunning waves of orange light over the drifting dunes, darkening the glowing golden particles. He shook his head. “Kids these days, what the fuck are we dealing with?”   
“Kids these days? What, are you going to tell them to get off your lawn next, grandad?”  
“Excuse me?”   
“Look at you! You’d think you’re sixty the way you’re going on. Twirling your moustache, glaring out at the setting sun complaining about kids these days, you are a walking fucking cliché,” N’golo remarked glibly  
“Don’t make this about me. What about the two children we’ve got to turn into helljumpers?”  
“Oh, I’m on the same boat. Useless, but if anyone can do it, you can,”  
“I second that. Look at us two, you took us from a violent urchin and a doctor into soldiers. You seem to eke out the potential in people,” Gretel persisted  
“That’s not true at all, and we both know it. I looked at you and saw soldiers. Those two? I see a liability,”  
“Maybe you can’t. But those two days in the desert we’ve got coming up will harden them like a prick in a strip club,” N’golo grinned, thinking about what those two rookies had in store.  
The three shared a short laugh. “That’s true I suppose,” Eric smiled sitting down with a heavy sigh. “Well, I’m going for a smoke, then I’m going to bed. Last one out hit the lights.” He drained his glass and walked out.  
“I’ll join him,” N’golo yawned  
“That’s a first,” Gretel muttered  
“What?”“Usually you never sleep,” Gretel said softly.  
“I don’t. But like we were saying to Eric. It’s worth a shot,”  
“Shooting doesn’t help nightmares. In your case, it causes them,”   
“We both know it wasn’t the shooting,” N’golo said darkly, storming out. Gretel realized she had gone too far. Now he would have a nightmare, having been reminded. She was a fool. For a psychologist, she was a poor people person. These thoughts plagued her as she flicked the switch, and throughout the night as she tossed and turned, eventually falling into an uneasy sleep.


	2. Desert Escapade

The team barracks were rudely awakened by a blaring claxon and accompanying message. “Bravo Two, gear up and report to the Command Centre in ten minutes,” it repeated. The members all groaned, rolling out of bed. “Cut us some slack, we’re still out of shape!” N’golo shouted at the speaker as he got dressed, pulling on the body suit. His armour was standard issue black. Or at least, normally it was. While they had been at the outpost, he had adorned it in a more fitting sandy brown camouflage. So had everyone. He had retained his individuality however, as the left shoulder plate was larger than the other. He also had a thicker chest plate and longer knee pads. His boots were capped in folded steel, and his helmet had an extra inch of armor protruding from the skull. He slipped on his backpack and a harness of shotgun shells, pistol magazines and grenades.   
Gretel was wearing a slimmed down suit of armor. It had a range of antenna on the earpiece, owing to her need for better communications as a medical unit. She also had smaller knee, and elbow pads. Her shoulder pads were missing entirely, and instead two white epaulets with red crosses were emblazoned on the armor. Simon was similarly stripped down, however he was adorned with Sniper rounds and had a detachable pair of binoculars mounted atop his helmet.   
Dimitra had a more reinforced armor and carried multiple explosives and chemical compound creation kits. On her left wrist, she had a tactical computer hard wired into the armor to prime and detonate any explosives she needed. The team was assembled in minutes, but looked around. “Where’s Stevens?” N’golo asked.   
“He must have known, woke up early I assume. We should go,” Gretel said  
“Sounds like him. Ok everyone, stick close and follow me,”  
The assembled group huddled together, marching tiredly through the disturbed base to the Command Centre. In the rusty fabricated barracks, soldiers rustled from the claxon. Try as they might, sleep eluded them in the searing heat. When they arrived, the two newest additions hardly believed it was important. “It’s…a hut?” Simon raised an eyebrow in disbelief. He wasn’t wrong. A low stone wall was a few feet from the fabric of a tent, spread-eagled over a patch of musty sand. “Check inside, then get back to me,” Eric retorted, peering from inside the folds of the door. “Come in, and don’t touch anything.”  
Eric hadn’t been exaggerating. The tent was far larger inside than out. They stepped down into the cool, dark room. It was only lit by the amassed lights on the towering blocks of computers, databases and record modules. The sight was almost intimidating. In the centre of the tent, a wide, waist height table was displaying a holographic overview of the area. Nothing of note was immediately visible, a few ruins, the outpost they were in, and the Marathon-class Cruiser hovering a few kilometers away.   
Eric motioned for them to stand around the table, waiting for something. A small blue hologram of a woman, looking like a librarian in a woolen jumper and milk bottle glasses observed them. “Who have you brought me today, lieutenant?” She asked. The aforementioned lieutenant marched out from the darkness, his mountainous height visible even in the gloom. “This is Bravo Two Sybil. Do you not have something else to do?”  
“If I did, would I be here talking to you?”  
“Point taken. Bravo Two, apologies for the disruption. We have an assignment. This, is the target structure,” He pushed a button and the screen rapidly zoomed in on a tower, buried in sand. “All we know is it exists, and appears similar to other objects we have found on other planets. We are to recon the ruins, and report back with our findings. Threat levels are minimal, but we should remain vigilant.”  
The team nodded, but one was unsure. “Sir, if I may?” Simon piped up  
“Speak,”  
“You keep saying ‘We’, shouldn’t it be ‘You’?”  
“No, it should not. I will accompany you, as will a two-man squad of ONI operatives, both of whom will observe your performance and our findings. Gather what you need. We leave in half an hour. Dismissed,” The Lieutenant walked off, speaking in hushed tones. “Sounds wonderful, we could all use a day in the sun. It should do our tans a great deal of work,” Gretel smiled positively. N’golo scoffed and checked his shotgun and battle rifle for wear. Satisfied, he shouldered the weapons and walked out of the tent.  
The team was occupying the gate when Dreft walked towards them. He was a well-built man, rippling muscles busting out from his cropped shirt. He had a large scar from just above his ear, down to his lip. This framed his iron jawline even more than his shaved head did. He was wearing only a ballistic vest for protection. In his hands, he held a heavy-duty assault rifle and on his hip, was a high caliber magnum. “Damn, scary looking bloke,” Simon said  
“Damn right. Never seen that rifle before, and the pistol is an M6D. Hits like a train,” N’golo noted. They stood up to address their commanding officer and the two ONI spooks behind him. They were dressed in all black gear, obscuring every inch of their body. They looked like robots. “As you were,” Dreft waved his hand. The soldiers relaxed, resuming their positions.  
Dreft looked over the troopers ahead of him. “I know this won’t seem right, you being helljumpers and everything, but we’re going on foot. We need to survey the land, and it’ll do your survival skills a favour. The ruin is a day’s march from here. Everyone has basic rations for four days, and another day’s emergency rations. Let’s go marines.” Bravo Two had one last look over the outpost they had come to call home. The energy was electric. For different reasons. Eric and N’golo were excited to be back in the saddle again, whereas Gretel and the two recruits were more nervous. Their last collective sigh was lost to the world in the silence, rolling across the endless, still dunes.   
The sun rose as they marched, casting a shadow that resided permanently to their left. As the day waned, shadows grew short. As did their tempers and motivation. All around them, flat sand surrounded their scorched bodies. Midway to the target, as the sun beat down from above, they sheltered in the crook of a dune. “If I’d wanted a march across the desert, I’d have joined the army,” Eric groaned, feeling the burning sand on his back. His view of the clear, blue sky reminded him of being a child, staring at the covers hidden under the bed. Only now, N’golo entered the vision and shattered his delusion. “Could be worse, could be raining.”  
“I’d love nothing more,” Eric said, irritated at N’golo’s smugness.   
“You grow up in this system, you get used to it.”  
Further down the dune, Gretel was speaking with Dreft and Dimitra. “Lieutenant, I cannot recommend that attire on this planet,” Gretel looked worriedly at Dreft’s raw shoulders. Dismissively, he replied “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. We won’t be in the sun much longer anyway. We made it far quicker than I expected. The site is a few more miles away,”  
“I hope so,” Dimitra admitted “I’m almost excited. This should be an experience.”  
Dreft looked up from the sand he’d been stirring at Dimitra. “How many deployments have you had?”  
“None, sir. This is my first.”  
“Well, I suppose at least the weather’s nice here. Truth be told, trooper? You’ve got more interesting places to be than this.”  
“Perhaps. However, I find the corporal will be best suited being eased in gently, to ensure the stresses are not too severe.” Gretel said  
“I disagree, I believe I would be better suited to direct combat. I work best under pressure.”  
“Don’t bet on it,” Dreft laughed “Trust me, corporal. There ain’t no pressure like battlefield pressure. You get tossed in at the deep end, and you’ll break like a twig. Specially someone as…delicate as you.” He turned away before she could reply, announcing loudly “Five more minutes, then we move out.”  
Atop the dune, Eric peered across their pathway. Behind, the tracks cut through the sand, already washing away in the soft wind. Slim, curling waves of matter rolled elegantly over the dunes, drifting peacefully in the sun. “Kinda beautiful, isn’t it?” Dreft said, walking to his side. “In a way, maybe.” Eric agreed somewhat, scratching his palm quietly. “Something wrong, Eric?”  
“No, sir. Just thinking.”  
“About?”  
“All this. I wonder what we’re doing here, when so much of this is just…” He gestured generally at the emptiness. Dreft was quiet for a long time when he finally spoke. “I know what you mean, I do. Why don’t we pack up, hold down Earth? Set up more bases like Reach, all around the system. Truth is, I don’t think that would look good. Centuries of expansion, for us to run back with our tails between our legs…”  
“I understand.” Eric drew his rifle, “We keep on going, then?”   
“Affirmative, Sergeant. Let’s go.”  
It took them less time than expected to reach the ruins. They had anticipated being there for nightfall, but it was still midafternoon when they arrived. “Ahead of schedule. Unusual,” Dreft rubbed his sore, throbbing red neck. The ODST’s had fared better in their temperature controlled, vacuum sealed suits. It didn’t help their stiff limbs, blistered feet and raw throats. It had helped when they found the ruin however. It was a looming tower, easily sixty metres tall. It was a dull, matte silver, with veins of scattered bronze running down the edges. “That’s like nothing I’ve ever seen,” Gretel muttered, her eyes never breaking from the mesmerizing building. Dreft glanced over the target “I’ve seen them before though. Insurrectionists, down low,”  
From the top of their dune, they gazed down into the valley. The shadow of the sun sinking behind the spire was cast long and heavy across the golden sand. Down on the main part of the ruin, a group of insurrectionists scurried around like ants. Eric peered over the top, his visor magnified to view the enemies. He sank back down the dune to the others. “Have they noticed us?” Gretel asked  
“Negative, but we can’t risk it,” Eric replied. Dreft was stood, rubbing his chin. Clearly deep in thought, he gazed out across the sand, ignoring the bead of sweat that ran down his forehead. “The original plan was to camp out and explore tomorrow. Obviously, the plan has changed,” Dreft knelt down, joining the circle of soldiers. Drawing his knife, he began to draw out a floor plan of the surrounding area.   
The drawing was crude, but illustrated their predicament. “Here we have the ridge. I want Ewart positioned here to provide sniper support. Meanwhile, myself and the ONI operatives can push the right flank. Stevens, you take the remaining force and head left. We meet up in the middle, here. We’re facing a superior force, so no heroics,”  
“Lieutenant, I thought we had the support of the Galilee?” Asked Dimitra  
“I’ve requested reinforcements, but they might not arrive yet. And we can’t risk losing the element of surprise, so we’re on our own for now. Now, move out.”  
Night was beginning to fall, masking their planned positions. This made everyone glad. “Activate your VISR, it’ll make visibility better,” Eric ordered. They obeyed, gasping as the world was lit up in a yellow hue. The detail was astounding. He could see the individual grains of sand, personal records for the squad, and a highlight of each hostile Insurrectionist. Eric and co made their way down the dune, disrupting a minor slide of sand. “Sound off,” Eric muttered through the radio, drawing his M6 Socom. Two whisper quiet bullets shot out of the barrel, tearing through an unaware soldier. His blood pooled in a small, sticky puddle around his head. A shocked look was on his face, which was smothered in blood and sand that had latched onto the red stain. A puddle at his feet made Eric realize he had been urinating. “Killed having a slash. Sad way to go.”  
Continuing on deeper into the base, they took out a few more, splitting up. Gretel went with Dimitra and Eric moved on his own. “Sergeant, there’s two hostiles to your left. One behind a rock. I no longer have visual on the other, he was moving in your direction,” Simon warned  
“Understood. Take the shot on rock guy on three. One, two, three.” Another two bullets snapped from Eric’s pistol. The sound of gristle staining the dirt was louder than the shot. That was, until a sound like Zeus throwing lightning from Mount Olympus ripped through the night. “Holy shit!” The round ripped through the target, scattering his brain along the floor, his lifeless body careening after it.   
Not only had the entire base been sent on full alert, Eric was showered in bloody rain. He brushed some of the red mush from his visor, freeing a degree of vision. “Private, if you didn’t suppress your rifle, I am going to strangle you with your guts!” Eric growled, holstering his pistol and drawing a MA5C assault rifle.  
Dreft was furious at the sudden change, blasting away at the Insurrectionist in front of him. “What happened?”  
“Rookie mistake sir, he didn’t suppress his rifle,” Eric admitted. Dreft shook his head, reloading his gun. He charged up on top of boulder, his finger never letting off the trigger. Two insurrectionists on the upper ring of the ruin toppled off the balcony, slamming into the dirt.   
Dreft heard his rifle click. Cursing, he threw it at a soldier below him, who fell back in shock. Drawing his pistol, he started a sudden successive series of shots at several soldiers surrounding him. He leapt from the rock, down to the scarlet sand. A good thing he did, too, else he would have been killed in the grenade explosion that had missed him by nanoseconds. Eric, who had seen it all, uttered a low whistle. Landing heavily, Dreft pressed in his earpiece “Regroup on me at the door!” Standing back up, he saw the incapacitated soldier he had hit earlier. Raising his magnum, it clicked as he pulled the trigger. Snarling in disgust, he flicked it aside and flexed his muscles. The knife on his chest was slipped out of its sheath and slipped into the downed soldiers gut. He twitched once and was still. Gathering his gear, Dreft ran off to the rally point.   
Simon arrived the rally point, heaving his breath in and out. The others were watching Dimitra plant charges on the doorway. Eric sprinted to the soldier, slamming his open palm against his helmet. “Fucking idiot! Look at what you did!”   
“Sergeant, calm down,” Gretel said cautiously, moving to his side.  
“Stay out of this!” He snapped at Gretel. She backed away cautiously as he continued the tirade against Simon. “Useless, honestly. I don’t have the time for kids, and if you don’t get a finger out of your arse, you’ll get us all killed!”  
“Eric, stop!” She pulled him away from Simon, who was trembling. Whether it was fear or disappointment, she wasn’t sure.   
“Lance Corporal, I am giving you a standing order to remain silent unless spoken to. Do you understand?” Gretel immediately closed her mouth, nodding briskly at him. She was livid at the cruelty he was displaying. Where had it come from? The man had made a mistake.   
Gretel almost spoke back. Luckily, Dreft arrived, dispelling much of the anger. through the doorway, he hopped down from on high. “That order is being overruled Staff Sergeant, although if you address your peers or a superior officer by their first name again, Lance Corporal, I will reinstate the punishment. Now, everyone inside. Go”  
The last two people outside were Dreft and N’golo. When the latter paused to look up at a rising flare of unflinching, white light, Dreft stopped behind him. And never carried on walking. A strange groan emanated from his mouth, and a red stain and silver blade emanated from his chest. The mountainous mound of muscle slid off of the dagger, landing in a heap, the essence of his life mixing with the dirt. “Son of a bitch!” N’golo spat, ducking under the swipe aimed at him. He squatted with his foe’s arms above his head. N’golo aimed a punch at his chin, knocking him back. Now he had some breathing room to really get to work.   
The ODST’s armoured boot connected with the Insurrectionist’s bent knee, bending the joint inward. It snapped with a crack, sending him lower to the ground. His situation was worsened by N’golo tackling him to the earth. With both of his fists, he pummelled the man’s skull into mush. His cranium shattered on the temples, his brain poking out of the sides. N’golo was panting from effort when Eric appeared in front of him, a hand open to grasp. They clasped their limbs together, the blood staining Eric’s glove. “Inside, come on!”  
They crossed the threshold soon after that. A secondary door was ahead of them, shielding the others from view. When they got inside, it fully slammed shut. “Fuck!” Eric spat.  
“Amen to that,” N’golo agreed, keeled over from exhaustion “Never thought it’d be Dreft,”  
“Speaking of… where were we?” Eric started to walk menacingly toward Simon.   
“No! You can’t!” Gretel stood between them, arms raised  
“Gretel.” Eric spoke softly, but the anger was plain to hear. “Don’t try and stop me,”  
“Or what?” Gretel stood her ground, trying to ignore her pounding heart. Eric simply looked at her, saying gently “You’ll regret it.”   
At Eric’s approach, Simon tried to look somewhat composed, but he didn’t stand a chance. Eric shoved the solder back into the sand, saying bitterly “That man is dead because of you. Let that sink in, and get yourselves set. We’re not done yet.”


	3. Rust and Ruin

Nearly an hour passed as they walked, deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole. The travel had been awkward, mostly silent. The arid land upon which the ruin was situated seemed to emanate a quiet solidarity, despite the endless, flat nothingness. Even here, inside the ruin, they could feel the same essence of paranoia. They had to be being watched.   
They stopped momentarily as Eric scouted past the next doorway. With the passage currently silent, Simon wondered aloud “Why does he hate me so much?” He flinched when Gretel replied. “He doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t hate anyone.” Except maybe himself, she added, in her mind. “He’s angry that Dreft was killed, which likely comes from a belief he could have stopped it. He also blames your carelessness, and fears it will be the end of us all.”   
“So, what? He’s scared?”  
“Of course. Deep down, we all are. Wouldn’t you agree? Of something, at the very least. Even if it’s a mere spider.” That was all she would say. As if coordinated, Dimitra arrived to interrupt, pointing to the doorway. “We’re clear, Doctor. Let’s go.”  
On and on they marched. Countless bronze, glass and silver hallways melted into memory, the broken dust of which passed by idly. Eric carried on his march, muttering gently with N’golo. No-one else dared speak. They just kept on marching, until “Enough. We camp here,” Eric announced. The others gladly sighed and dropped to their knees.   
Another ten minutes passed, during which they scavenged what they could from their criminally under packed gear. They briskly worked to bring about a fire, over which they boiled water, chewing bitterly on the stale, pre-packaged food. Throughout, Eric remained silent. He allowed them this rest, speaking only when he had finished eating. “I’ve thought it through, and we still have a chance.” This disturbed them all, and he raised a hand to quiet their asking.  
“I knew that’d rustle them,” N’golo chuckled. “He had a plan, before you start losing it. It’s just he’ll have realised how it fits together.”   
“Would you care to enlighten us, sergeant?” Dimitra asked politely.   
“I’ll explain that if you let me finish.” Eric paused, scouring his pack for examples in his explanation. “We still get radio signal here. We wait until the Pelican arrives, use the reinforcements to secure the area, then hoof it back to the surface and go home.” It didn’t provide the best feeling.  
Immediately, Dimitra looked away. Her face showed plainly her thoughts: that’s it? She had assumed calling for help and returning home were the basics, a concept at best. Not a plan. “Sergeant, surely we have something…else?”  
“What would you do then?” Eric asked her irritably   
“Perhaps we could come to a collective agreement? One with an actual plan, not merely a concept.”   
“I gotta admit, we haven’t got a whole load to go on Eric,” N’golo added  
“A plan, eh? Go on then, spill.” Eric asked  
“I haven’t a plan yet, but a communal decision-”   
“Corporal, leave it.” Eric interrupted, “There can’t be too many tangoes around, so a Pelican should be enough.”  
“We agree with the sergeant,” One of the, up until now silent, ONI specialists spoke. “This is not a complicated extraction, and it will be aided by reinforcements.” Eric looked at Dimitra, shrugged, then started to call the base.  
Eric finished on the radio and looked around. “Slight change of plan,”  
“How so?” Gretel asked  
“We’re still being extracted, Pelican and all. It’s just going to take a little longer.”   
“How long?” N’golo looked up from the pack he was rearranging.   
“Sunrise tomorrow, they’re saying.” Eric admitted. Immeditaely, exasperated sighs filled the room. They were ready to go home. Eric tried to control the situation, “There’s nothing we can do about it, so quit whining.”  
“Why is it taking so long?” Simon dared to ask  
“They’re readying a full task force. A Phoenix-class will oversee our extraction.”  
“A Phoenix?” N’golo uttered a low whistle, “I never knew we were that damn important,”  
“I would assume this concerns the site we inhabit, gentlemen,” Gretel said, “Colony ships can be retrofitted for other purposes, so it isn’t impossible this is a research vessel. After all, the terraforming the UNSC expected on this planet was far less than expected.”  
“If you ask me, they could have done a better job,” Eric said bitterly, wiping the congealed, sweaty sand from his face.   
“What’s so important about this place?” Simon asked, “I mean, it’s pretty and all, but what’s so important a whole research vessel is needed?”  
“Who knows. All I know is, we’re in for some fireworks tomorrow,” N’golo said, “These colony ships are huge, and if they’re coming to secure the place? I doubt anything will be walking away.  
In the wake of their discussion, Eric seemed distracted. Gretel tried to talk to him, but he pushed her away most of the time. Eventually she asked a final time, “Eric, I can see plainly you are upset. If I can, it won’t be long before the others do too. Speak up about what’s wrong.” He sighed angrily,   
“It’s a waste of resources. A whole colony ship, for seven people. Between us, we took on at least thirty hostiles. With an extraction Pelican of say, twenty marines, we could easily clean up what’s left.”   
“I understand,” Gretel looked around the desolate room, at the woeful faces. “It could be a show of force. It could be to stage a secure base, to venture further into the desert.” She threw her arms up. “We don’t know.”  
“I bet they do,” Eric glared at the two ONI specialists, quietly nattering in the corner. “Has to be something to do with them, else why would they be here? I think we were right with research. Only question is, what’s so important about this place?”  
“I can’t answer that,” Gretel admitted. “Get some sleep, sergeant. You’ll need it.”  
N’golo woke up to a strange hovering android in his face. The three, pearly grey arms clicked menacingly over his face. “Woah, shit!” He jumped, snatching up his shotgun. With steady hands, he swept his weapon around, taking in the armada. All around, these devices were observing them. They had strange, angular, what seemed to be pincers. A small orange tip was near where the mouth would be, and a single glowing blue eye watched them carefully. “Wake up. WAKE UP,” He hissed, trying not to disturb the robot.   
Painfully slowly, the others roused. All the while, N’golo repeated the same few words in a terrified whisper. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck…” One by one, they sat up, realizing the danger they were in. Almost in unison, Eric and Dimitra snatched up weapons and flicked off their safeties. Gretel hissed “Nobody do anything rash,” She raised her hands in surrender, walking slowly towards the nearest android. The ONI spooks simply watched silently as the others protested. The robot clicked menacingly as she approached, unsure of her purpose. Simon trembled in fear for the doctor, unsure what she planned to do. She approached the hovering droid like one would a spooked animal. She got closer and closer, just about to touch it, her fingers brushing the metal case.  
As her fingers grazed the smooth metal, the world exploded. The room rocked massively, scattering them all across the floor. The androids screeched in unison, whizzing up through a hole in the ceiling towards the source of the disturbance. “Bravo Two, where are you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago!” The radio crackled into life. “This is Bravo Two One, we got distracted, over,” Eric apologised  
“Understood Bravo Two One, just haul ass up here, out. We got boots on the ground, but expect heavy resistance.” Eric started to run to the exit.   
“Time to go!”  
Their return route seemed more direct. Unsure if the layout had changed, or whether it was simply mind tricks, Eric remained cautious. Even so, he didn’t slow, much to the chagrin of the rest of the squad. More of the androids flew past them, apparently oblivious to these intruders. The soldiers followed the same path as the droids, hoping it led to an exit. Thankfully, it did. “This isn’t good!” Simon shouted as the ruin rocked again from explosive impacts. “What the hell’s going on out there?” N’golo shifted lithely, a falling chunk of metallic rock skimming his skull. “I haven’t a clue,” Eric said   
“It doesn’t seem to be working!” Dimitra added, pushing through the thickening cloud of dust and dirt swirling all around them. From the crumbling rocky wall, a glimmer of sunlight poked through the distant doorway. “I see sunlight, we’re almost there!” Simon pushed on, helping Gretel to her feet. They continued to run, stumbling over each other in the commotion. Scattered debris slowed them, the endless tirade of destruction threatening to suck them back in to ruin. Only when they crashed out into the beating sun did they relax. Briefly.  
This well-deserved rest was cut short by the unravelling state of the ruin. Both structurally and tactically. Thankfully, Bravo Two was upon a perch, the balcony overlooking the ruin’s exterior grounds. Down there, in the bloodbath, death was all they could see. “The army’s really getting it handed to them,” Simon observed.   
“Don’t just stand there, start covering them!” Eric ordered, raising his rifle.   
The battleground was turmoil. A Pelican was firing wildly, missiles slamming into the ruin, some hitting their mark, demolishing packed groups of entrenched Insurrectionists. “Shit!” N’golo groaned as his ears rang. What he would place at fifty Marines were attacking the insurrectionists. Masses of seething, exploding bodies passed like ants over the shifting sand and rock.   
Gretel ducked down to reload, noticing the poor state of the supporting ship. High above them, in the too blue sky, clear of clouds, the cruiser erupted in flames. Beams as bright as the sun seared into the armour. The beams, belonging to the androids they had faced before, never seemed to stop, illuminating the blank sky.   
On the ground, the UNSC continued to flood the ruin with soldiers and war. All to scatter a few rebels? No one, least of all Gretel, believed this. Despite this, the insurrectionists still kept coming.  
Just as the marines started to gain the upper hand, the Galilee moved in closer, but refrained from firing. It was now very visible in the morning sun, hovering above like an unwanted spectator. The final pocket of resistance was left huddled on a small balcony, pitifully returning fire at the gathered attackers. “Anyone got a rocket? We can finish this now!” Eric asked around, looking at them for an answer. Instead, the ONI speaker said viciously “No! No explosives! We can’t risk damaging the site more than you already have.”   
“That wasn’t us! It was your fucking idea to call in a strike force,” N’golo snapped, looking at his belt for a grenade. Dimitra agreed, adding “We were told to secure the area. Lieutenant Dreft’s standing orders. Preservation is a secondary goal.” Eric shrugged smugly at the two ONI spooks, shifting to allow N’golo to ready his throw. The insurrectionists cowering in fear fell by the wayside of concerns when an army of the androids flew across the sky. The cloudless sky turned a dull, blanket grey like so much sheet metal. It shifted menacingly, like a billowing storm, crackling with blue and orange beams of light.  
“Holy shit” Eric’s jaw dropped as the attackers descended onto the humans. Beams of orange light split limb from body in searing heat. The deaths left expressions of agony on the faces of the dead. Those who were wounded screamed in pure, unadulterated pain. “Return fire!” a marine shouted, scrambling to a Warthog in his desperation. He hardly managed to pull the trigger on the gun before three droids let loose hot light. His charred, smoking carcass smashed into the sand. “Find cover!” Eric ordered, pushing Simon and Gretel down the balcony to the lower level. Dimitra remained where she was, tapping away madly at her arm-mounted device. “What the hell are you doing?” N’golo asked her. She had to be crazy to be oblivious to the slaughter occurring around them. It was only when she passed him a canister did he understand. “Smoke grenade. ‘Thick as pea soup’, as the sergeant might say,” she explained. N’golo nodded, impressed. He liked this girl. First, she’d stuck it to the ONI spooks, and now he might just save their lives.  
Amidst the utter mayhem, a lone, undamaged Pelican landed near Eric, Simon and Gretel. It hissed, opening the hatch. “Get in!” the gunner shouted, waving to the team. The two ONI operatives were the first aboard. And the only ones. “What about the others?” Simon asked, pushing away from those pushing him to the craft.   
“He’s right! We can’t leave them,” Gretel stood her ground. Eric looked sternly at her, cursing loudly. “You’re right. Pilot! Hold position, we’ve got squad mates MIA!”  
“No can do, sarge. We just got word on the horn!” He shouted over the din, “Priority assets! We take all the wounded we can, get the spooks out and come back for who we can!”   
“You’re taking the piss?” Eric exclaimed in disbelief. When the gunner shook his head mournfully, Eric gave him a two-finger salute. “Bastards.” They were left to defend themselves from the onslaught of robot’s intent on their death. “What the fuck? Those bastards, they left us here!” Simon was in disbelief. The others were too busy firing to care.   
The cruiser above was starting to move away as the horde of robots were slowly but surely pushed back. Cracked, smoking carcasses were joined by burned out metal husks. Everywhere, glassy sand was burning in the destruction. It appeared they had won the day, and the cruiser shifted to land. Until, even more launched from the bowels of the battered ruin. They avoided the broken soldiers, instead focusing on the accelerating cruiser. Flashes of light tore across the sky as the cruiser turned back. “They’re coming back for us!” Simon leapt to his feet, ecstatic. As the MAC Cannon on the front of the cruiser lit up, a deep, guttural, molten glow, Eric’s heart sank. “No, they’re aiming for us!”  
The cruiser was under heavy fire, burning from the attacks. Inside, the bridge was pandemonium. Screens flashed on and off, the guns flickered out of life. “Get those guns up!”  
“I can’t hit a shot, there’s too many!”  
“Where did it go?”  
“I just lost comms!” Only the Captain was calm. A wizened old man, he pointed at the structure. “We have to blow up the ruin,”  
“Sir?”  
“You heard me. Blow up the ruin. If we can’t cut off the limbs, we have to destroy the brain. Prepare the Mass Accelerator.”  
“But sir-”  
“I know our men are down there. But more lives are in danger if this ship is lost.”  
“What about our orders, sir?”  
“Ruins like this are all over the planet. I am ordering you, fire that cannon!”  
“Understood. MAC Cannon preparing to fire, danger close, in atmosphere assault.”  
The gun was primed to fire. “Shouldn’t we try and run?” Dimitra asked  
“There’s no point.” Eric was defeated. His shoulders had sunk and his rifle was at his feet. “It’s been an honour serving with you,” he said, looking up as a spark of energy flashed in the sky. Except it wasn’t the cruiser. “What the-”  
“No. No, no, no! This can’t be-not here!” N’golo panicked, his heart throbbing in his chest as the purple energy dispersed, leaving a blazing, torrid tear in the hull of the Galilee. The gigantic colony ship erupted in explosions along the length of its hull. In its place was a bulbous, tear drop shaped Covenant Battlecruiser.  
“Shall we run now?” Dimitra asked, already backing away. The other didn’t answer with words. Instead, they turned and fled as fast as they could. This wasn’t dignified or proud. That didn’t matter. Survival mattered. Faced with the terror of extinction, the humans had fled. It was a matter of flying away faster than your fear. Fly faster than that which can crush you without thought.   
They disappeared over the ridge, as did everyone. The entire expeditionary force had all but been wiped out, with only the fearful, embittered dregs of survivors capable of the rational thought to run. But it did them no good. A wave of Banshees sent the scattered souls to the grave. But not the helljumpers. They evaded the attack. Somehow.   
Whilst the others raced ahead, one stopped. “Slow down, we need to think about this!” Dimitra shouted  
“Keep moving, that’s an order!” Eric didn’t look back.  
“If we keep running, we’re just going to die tired!”   
“I’m already tired, dying would be a peaceful change of pace!” N’golo replied bitterly.  
“We need to hide! Hide until they stop searching!” Dimitra said  
“Hide where? If you haven’t noticed we’re on a flat plain in the middle of a sodding desert! Not exactly the best place for hide and seek!” N’golo spat back.  
“Bury ourselves then! Bury ourselves in the sand!” To emphasize her point, Dimitra started to dig. As she was knee deep in the early grave, the others stared at her in disbelief. “You’re insane,” Eric remarked  
“Am I? Or am I a realist? Tell me Staff Sergeant, what is the result if we continue running?” She stared at him, unpolarizing her visor so he could see her steely gaze. Eric was silent, so Simon spoke “We get killed.”  
“Well done. What happens if we stand still and sit?”  
“We get killed.”  
“What happens if we go back?”  
“We fucking get it!” N’golo swore  
“But if we hide, we may have a chance. What have we got to lose?” Dimitra was almost pleading at this point, covered in sand. The others were uneasy, but what choice did they have? Dimitra had laid it out. Gretel was certainly convinced, as she was the first to dig, leaving the rest to follow suit. “There’s no way in hell this’ll work.” Eric put his rifle down and dug. N’golo scoffed, “You’re not seriously considering this?”  
“It’s the best plan we’ve got, I’ll give her that.”  
“Right now, the best plan is like being the shiniest shit.”   
“Oh, shut up and dig. If the last words I hear are you whining, I’ll kill you again.”  
When the last grain of sand had rolled over his visor, time had ceased to exist for N’golo. There was nothing. Nothing but silence and darkness. He was shrouded in it. But even this undisturbed serenity couldn’t calm his fevered mind. He had been here before. Not here, but in a glassing. He still had nightmares. Deep down, he knew that the Covenant would win. How couldn’t they? When the mere act of their arrival left them cowering in the dirt. The hardest, toughest soldiers available to the UNSC had chosen to dig their own graves and save them doing it. N’golo was uncertain he would ever see the light again.  
What felt like an eon had passed. Reality reared its ugly head and informed him it had been four hours. They re-emerged to a changed land. What had once been a cobalt sky was the colour of unset cement. The rolling, steel clouds were buzzing with the lighting flashes of the combat inside. “I don’t believe it,” Eric said in amazement. Dimitra did a mocking curtsy and N’golo barked a cynical laugh. “What’s so funny?” she asked. “Well I’ll be damned, we aren’t dead.” He looked down at his hands, flexing the muscles. “Crazy over there actually did it.”   
“I don’t mean to ruin the moment, but that sky looks as welcoming as a piranha,” Simon noted. They all glanced up, then back down the ground. Fear bristled over them all. They didn’t want to know what was going on in there. The harder thing to ignore was the azure bulb in orbit over the ruin. A final glance back to check they weren’t being pursued, and the team plodded on. Not once did they think about the fate of those who hadn’t been so resourceful. Not once.  
Days had passed. The nights had come and gone, waxing and waning. The sky had calmed. It was no longer a concert of dancing lights and roaring sounds. Now, it was once again still. Simon was done. Past exhausted. Done. He had never walked so far, so fast in his life. Not even his training could keep him from stumbling through the sludge of sand. The effort required to even put one foot in front of another was astronomical. Eventually, it was too much. Without a word, without a sound from his mouth, he keeled over.   
Rather unceremonious really. They turned around, one by one, Eric doing so last. “Simon, are you ok?” Gretel said cautiously  
“I’m fine, I just need a minute,” came the reply. It was slow, he slurred his words and was still afterwards. Gretel rolled him onto his back and removed his helmet as well as her own. “Get him some water,” she ordered, pointing at Dimitra. While she did so, Gretel never broke her view of his face. “Poor sod,” N’golo muttered. It had to be one of us, he thought. Tapping him lightly on the cheek, she gasped in relief when he stirred.   
“Simon, stay with me. Don’t close your eyes again, don’t you dare.” she said softly yet forcefully simultaneously. Eric and N’golo simply stood around, waiting for a result. When none came, N’golo spoke “We can’t do this here, we have to keep moving.” Gretel was furious, whipping her head around. Her loose bangs flung into her face, framing her face with a wild fury. “What do you propose? We leave him? I refuse to leave him, and I certainly can’t carry him. I’m not sure even you could, in this state.” “She’s got a point,” Eric conceded, “On a good day, maybe you could, but we’ve been storming on for two days now, with not a single rest.”   
“He was just the first to fall. Much longer and none of us would remain,” Dimitra added.   
It was true. Ever since they had emerged, they had been wandering aimlessly in the ancient desert. Nothing had come of it. They had made progress true, but nothing had changed. The horizon was still a lightyear away. They were still sore, still tired, still lost. A map reading was a good help, but it didn’t help them feel like they had made any difference. All that had happened was the scorched yellow sand had darkened to a deeper red.   
Eric was torn. Visibly distressed at the situation. He knew why Gretel wanted to stop, and he knew why N’golo was so desperate to continue. “We’re all tired. It’s just he was the first to fall.” They all looked at him. “We need a rest, but we also need to get back to the outpost and assist in any way we can. Command’s sure to be mobilising against the invasion.”  
“What use are we if we’re less fit for duty than the soldiers on the frontlines?” Gretel argued  
“For all we know, if we slow down there might not BE any front lines!” N’golo retorted  
“Enough! We have to slow down, for all our sakes. It’s no use surviving the first invasion to die of thirst in the desert, so we rest. Rest until we are battle ready. Then, we don’t stop until we reach the outpost. Intel says its two days away.” Eric sat down, asleep in mere seconds. Dimitra looked up across Simon to Gretel, who nodded. When they were all out, N’golo growled softly to himself and joined them.


	4. Old Scenery, New Enemies

Gretel was aware of shouting. Lots of shouting. “Fuck!”  
“What did you do?!”  
“Don’t blame me!”  
“It’s his fault!”  
“What on Earth are you arguing about?” Gretel said, emerging from her rest.   
“We overslept. A whole day down the drain.” N’golo said  
“Yeah, and he’s blaming me, even though I never specified time.” Eric pointed to himself  
“You’re arguing like children.” Gretel tutted. “This is irrelevant. You made yourself clear, which means we now go. Pack up and leave.” Gretel did as she said and started to walk.   
The better part of another day passed, culminating in their newest, draining discovery. The outpost they had known was gone. In its place was a Covenant prison. The barracks were windowed by plasma shielding, the fence was gone and the majority of the buildings were either destroyed or replaced by gravity towers. It wasn’t a promising sight. “Good news and bad news.” Eric began  
“Here we go.” N’golo murmured  
“Bad news first, if you will.” Dimitra asked calmly.   
Eric obliged, “Covenant occupied the base, which means we have to take it back.”  
“Are you certain that is wise, sergeant?” Dimitra asked   
“Its not a matter of wisdom, Dimitra,” N’golo pointed out, “those are people’s lives at stake.”  
“And we are behind enemy lines. Deep. It would be highly reckless to enact such a mission.” Dimitra protested.   
“I disagree, Dimitra,” Gretel added, “suicide as it may be, it is a risk we must take.” She noticed Dimitra flinched slightly at the use of ‘suicide’. Gretel compartmentalised it, pushing aside the information until it was more relevant. “It is a needless risk! We will die here.”   
“How can you be sure?” N’golo snapped. Before Dimitra could reply, Eric finished the argument quickly. “Enough! We’re saving them. It’s been our home for a good while, and any men we can save, any intel they have, will be priceless if we’re going to save our planet.” They fell silent, until Gretel asked  
“How do you propose we extradite them?”   
“I haven’t thought that through yet,” Eric admitted “but we can have a little Chinese Parliament and decide.”  
When everyone was comfortable, or as comfortable as you could be after a death march through the desert, they started. “Who’s up for blasting in, taking it as quick as we can?” N’golo proposed.   
“There are far too many of them for direct assault to be an option.” Gretel observed.  
“I don’t reckon its more than we could take…it’d be too risky though. Hostages would be at risk.”  
“That’s true, but we can’t wait for night to stealth it up,” N’golo pointed to the sky as he spoke. “It probably wouldn’t help much anyway, since rookie over there doesn’t know how a suppressor works.”   
“Hey, I’ve learned!” Simon protested  
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” N’golo scoffed.  
“We probably wouldn’t need to wait too long,” Eric stroked his chin as he thought.   
“I believe we are considering this from the wrong perspective. As a single group, we cannot hope to complete our objectives without being overpowered by reinforcements,” Dimitra paused to breathe and Gretel cut in.   
“However, as separate teams, we could secure the hostages and cut off communications simultaneously.”   
“Precisely.” Dimitra confirmed.  
“That could work,” Eric spoke slowly as he considered. “We could blitz it, like N’golo said, but keep it quiet too.”  
“If we got a ride, we could blast out before they knew what was going on, and get back at triple the pace,” Simon added  
“It’s settled then,” Gretel looked to Eric for confirmation. He nodded, and she continued. “As the resident pilot, I can take Simon and secure the Pelican, you and Dimitra can rescue the captives,” Gretel proposed, leaving N’golo staring.   
“What do I do then?”   
“We need to destroy or otherwise disable the radio beacon so they can’t call for help.”   
“I’m all up for wrecking shit, but is it really where I’m best?” N’golo questioned  
“Sending a rookie and a doctor to get the Pelican, the demolition officer for the hostages and one man for the radio beacon?” Simon interrupted  
“I hate to admit it, but he’s got a point” N’golo raised his eyebrows at Eric, who sighed.  
“Fine, the rookies get the beacon. N’golo, you take Gretel to the Pelican,” Eric pointed to each one he mentioned  
“Which leaves you to secure the hostages.” They all said in unison, staring to walk to their respective tasks.  
Dimitra was nervous. It was her first time unsupervised and as a superior officer. “Stay close,” she said, more to keep herself calm than anything else. Simon might not be the best soldier, but he had a gun and an extra pair of eyes to watch her back. In that moment, it was all she needed.  
It was a quiet trip down the dune to the base. The pale mid-afternoon light did little to conceal their presence, but they thankfully continued on unnoticed. They were a mere hundred metres away from the base when the obvious candidate for the beacon was first revealed. “Bingo.” Simon remarked, staring at the device. It was a spindly wire, poking out to the sky. Its base was an almond shaped violet box, suspended half a metre off of the ground by three claw-like legs.   
When asked later, she couldn’t explain what it was, however at that time, Dimitra felt a great need to complete her task as soon as possible. She carelessly sprinted towards it, not caring about any hostiles near her. Her thundering footsteps and pounding heart joined her tunnel vision, ruining any awareness she had. In her eagerness, she ran straight into a terribly shocked Elite.   
The impact was like running into a brick wall. The alien was easily eight feet tall, broad shouldered and heavily armoured. It was clasped in a crimson combat harness, the shield generator humming quietly. How it didn’t hear her approach, she was unsure. Even despite having a fully armoured ODST charge into it, the Elite was not harmed, only confused. Dimitra on the other hand, found herself winded and lost. She thought she was face up on the sand, but couldn’t be sure.   
A scream almost left her lips as the Elite turned. When it saw the human, it knelt down to destroy her. Dimitra started to back away, scrambling through the dirt, kicking her legs to push her away. She rolled onto her front and started crawling, kneeling to get to her feet. A hand gripped her ankle and pulled her back. She looked up at the face of the beast that would kill her…  
Nothing was there. Where a head should be, it had disappeared moments before she had looked, showering her visor in thick purple blood. She let out a short cry and tossed the bloody helmet away in fear and shock. Running her gloved hands over herself, she checked for injury. The soft desert wind did little to mask her racing, thundering heart. She was certain it would give them away. The sound didn’t muffle the buzzing in her helmet radio and, after composing herself, she put it back on, ignoring the copious stench of fresh tar emanating from the dead Elite’s neck stump. “Did you see that? Holy shit! Are you okay?” Simon sounded out of breath and just as shocked as she was.  
Dimitra picked up her backpack and pulled out a collection of chemicals and charges. Planting a small one on the underside of the beacon, she flicked up the primer on the detonator. “Simon, what happened?” Dimitra asked as she saw him, motioning for her to meet him and push further into the compound. “I’ll explain after you push that button, do it!” He said, slamming her hand down. “This is PFC Ewart, the beacon is down. You don’t have to worry about the alarm or radio anymore!”  
“Son of a-!” N’golo sounded like plasma fire was coming through his radio. “You could have waited for us to get some people secure.”  
“Shit!” Simon said, not on the radio. “Sorry, I didn’t think.”  
“Don’t be sorry, Simon,” Gretel said soothingly, “Just remember next time.”  
“I will,” Simon was going to speak more profusely, but Dimitra cut him off, pulling his arm to get his attention. “We need to move!”  
“Right, of course,” Simon nodded, “I can fill you in on what happened, too.”  
“It could wait.” Dimitra groaned  
“So anyway, you get knocked over, and I shoot him. Between the scream, the scuffle and the bomb? They know we’re here. We need to hoof it somewhere.” Dimitra nodded, motioning at him “Take point.”  
Eric was just about to enter the barracks when the bomb went off. He was both glad and furious. Glad the rookies had succeeded, but furious the Covenant had been alerted. Unfortunately, the Elite he was stood behind turned around at the sound and saw an ODST crouched behind him, weapon drawn. In sheer surprise, the Elite was taken aback by the sight. The twenty rounds into his chest probably didn’t help either, Eric thought.   
The end of the room was a small compartment, locked away by a plasma barricade. Inside, the tortured marines stirred from the excitement occurring outside. “How’s it going lads? Let me get this down, then we’ll bust out of here,” Eric spoke quietly despite shooting mere moments before. The small box had a large array of buttons with alien symbols adorned on them. He briefly considered trying to crack the code, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. “Fuck it.” He smashed the butt of his sandblasted rifle into the obsidian square, shattering the case and spraying sparks across the floor as it landed in a broken heap.   
Almost immediately the mesh deactivated and the marines rushed out. “We’re out!” They laughed, breathing in fresh air.   
“Focus marines, we need to get you armed.” Eric was looking at the saved soldiers, but one face in particular stood out. “I’ll be damned, Danny Edwards?”  
“One and the same. Eric Stevens, I have missed you!” The marine smiled, pulling Eric into a tight hug. “How many years has it been?”   
“Six I think.”   
“Six…Jesus. How’s Monica?” Danny asked, immediately regretting the decision as he saw Eric’s face change. “She…she uh,”  
“I understand. I’m sorry mate, I didn’t know.” They stood there uncomfortably in the silence. “How, can I ask?” Danny finally dared to ask. Eric breathed in, trying to calm his pounding heart. Through the lump in his throat, he managed to choke out “We got mugged. Two years back.”  
Danny nodded and tapped him on the shoulder “I’m sorry, have a moment. I’ll get these guys sorted.”  
Danny and Eric started to walk to the armoury, with some marines arming themselves with the dropped weapons of the Covenant. “Bravo Two Two, this is Bravo Two one, do you copy?” Eric called   
“Bravo Two One, I read you. Got our marines?” N’golo’s voice was distant, drowned out by the sounds of combat. “Got them, we’re gearing up and heading back to you. Have you seen the kids yet?”  
“Negative, but they can’t be far. I can hear the sniper.” That much was true. The kid had a quick trigger finger. Hopefully he could hit something with it.   
Eric reached the armoury soon after and started dishing out weapons. Assault rifles of all types, battle rifles, pistols, shotguns, snipers, DMRs, anything they found. A small squadron of around thirty marines was rallied in front of Eric. He stepped up onto a box and shouted to get their attention “Marines! I know they’ve taken our home, but today’s is a fight we can’t win. But I promise you, we will come back. For now, we need to reach a Pelican and get out of here as soon as we can.”  
The door of the armoury burst open with a deafening bang. In the blink of an eye, thirty marines were outside in the blaring battle, blasting bullets at anything they saw. They cut a swath through the base, dashing past the Covenant and utterly outclassing their foe. Blood of all colours painted the walls of the outpost, a sick graffiti to their attack. Even in the commotion, they knew it wouldn’t last. Any firefight that dragged on too long led to casualties. Danny nearly took a round, ordering the others to push on and forget their pursuers. “Speed is key, boys! Push on!”  
Eric was leading the pack of course, sending as many Covenant as he could to their graves. Danny crouched behind the office Eric himself had been using only a few days prior, a minute’s distance from the Pelican. “N’golo, what the fuck happened? I thought you were clearing the LZ?”   
“I was a bit fucking busy!” N’golo’s shotgun fired six times in the space of him speaking. Danny had gritted his teeth and clasped his DMR tightly. “He’s only one guy, Eric. Come on, let’s show these kids how it’s done.”   
The two raced out from behind the crate-turned office, seconds before it detonated in a flaming explosion, scattering burning shards of wood and steel across the field. This didn’t faze the hardened soldiers, who dived through the Covenant lines, cutting deeply into their lines. Sensing an opportunity, the other marines followed. It was a bloody approach, costing many lives. All across the yellow dust, corpses of both sides were growing ever more prevalent. Screaming men bearing scalded wounds were dragged by friends to cover, hoping for respite. Many took a daring chance, charging out through open ground for the Pelican. Eric was not one of them.  
From his cover, a hardly three-foot-tall pile of sandbags, he called out to N’golo, who was decimating the enemy from the Pelican’s rear mounted cannon. The twirling barrels rattled, giving out death and hot lead. “Where are the rookies?” Eric asked  
“We’ve seen nothing. The radio has been silent too,” Gretel replied, flicking some switches distractedly. As soon as she had finished speaking, the radio crackled up with Dimitra’s voice “This is Bravo Two Four, where is the evac zone?”  
“You’re taking the piss!” Eric cried ruefully. He took a second to calm himself. “The main runway. It’s where you landed on the first day.” As he waited for a reply, the silence was palpable. Dimitra sounded subdued. “Understood, we’ll be there ASAP.”  
“They’re not going to make it, are they?” Gretel said quietly  
“Doesn’t sound like it.” N’golo admitted, pausing to let the gun cool.   
Eric was decided. “We hold position, they don’t get left. No one does.”  
“They better hurry the fuck up, because the pelican is about goosed,” Danny shouted from outside.  
He was right. The fuselage was cracked and burned, the sandy camouflage turned a ruinous black. Flaking paint and crinkled armour seemed too flimsy to withstand the beatings it received. Even in the chaos, the few soldiers still on the ground kept firing. Danny tossed a grenade, which exploded beside a pack of Jackals. The vicious avian aliens disappeared in a rocky, sandy cloud. The detonation sent half a wall tumbling, the sandstone falling like grass in the wind.   
In the dusty air, Simon and Dimitra were left dazed, the explosion and sunlight piercing their eyes. “They’re here!” A female marine screamed from the rear troop bay. The two rookies rushed out into the battle, following the final few boarders into the overfull troop bay. Gretel kicked the pelican into gear and took off.  
They had barely gotten ten feet in the air when the Pelican rocked heavily from an impact. “The hell hit us?”  
“AA Wraith!” Another blast hit the Pelican, smashing Simon’s head into the wall. The Pelican groaned like a wounded animal and lurched the rear to the ground, sending Danny tumbling out of the doors. Eric slid to the door, his arms outstretched to catch his friend. “Danny!” His cry was silenced as he tumbled out of the hangar after him, slamming into the ground.   
He blacked out for a moment, opening his eyes, utterly lost. He got on his knees, seeing Danny firing at the tank. Danny saw the wounded Eric and moved to intercept him. “Eric! We have to move!” Danny picked him up, running to the remains of the burning office. The Pelican flew over, dropping a pack into the space between the two soldiers. “Sergeant, use that to kill the wraith and we can come and get you,” Dimitra radioed in.  
Danny peeked into the odd bundle. “Explosives and a detonator.” He picked up the explosives and tossed the detonator at the now coherent Eric. “It just hit me. Cole Protocol. What about the baseplate? The command centre? We can’t go with that info still here.”   
“We scuttled that when we first saw the Battlecruiser come towards us, that’s why so little is left. We tried to evac, but it was slow. Got caught with enough of us here to seem important, but too few to hold the place.” Eric nodded, saddened at the knowledge what had been his home was rubble. It drained his will to know that so soon a bastion had fallen. And so easily. “At least our people got out,”  
“At least our people got out.” Danny concluded. “Now, that wraith. I stick it, you detonate it.”  
“Got it. I’ll run interference.”  
“Just get that wraith dead. No matter the cost.”   
Danny ran into the fray before Eric could say otherwise. The older man was still exceptionally fast. The sand around him billowed as the Pelican passed over, spraying a suppressive blast of rounds. The hovering tank returned fire, grazing the Pelican. Danny saw this, redoubling his efforts. Soon his heart was pounding and drowned out all noise. Not even the plasma scalding the air around him deterred his mad charge. “Danny! Watch it!” Eric cried as three searing bolts slammed into his friend. Danny stumbled, crawling through the dirt towards the tank. He pulled himself aboard, the exposed power core to the rear offering a perfect perch for the bomb. He slid the explosive, slick with his blood, down the tube, and let himself drop. He landed heavily, pushing himself forward as even more rounds smashed around him.  
Eric pushed down the button, and the indigo flames licked at Danny’s heels. He lay, almost paralyzed with fear, as blowing purple clouds of fire reached for him. Unbelievably, he found the strength to carry on forth. He staggered to his feet and returned to the place Eric was firing from. When he was back, he laid, spread-eagled across the floor. “Just like old times,” He laughed painfully, grasping his ribs. The Pelican landed behind them, spouting sand into the air, smothering the marines.   
“Get in!” Simon was almost inaudible over the din. Even in the localized sandstorm, he could see the flashes of plasma. Eric was pulled aboard the Pelican first by Simon, who jumped down and boosted the bleeding Danny up. Another wave of turbulence moved through the Pelican as multiple grenades exploded along its wing. As the Pelican began to take off, Danny jumped off and threw Simon aboard. He jumped up, in one final effort, ignoring his flaming muscles. His hands grazed the hangar’s rim, but he missed, slamming into the floor. Exhausted and alone.  
Eric was distraught. “Where’s Danny?” He asked, looking around the bay for his comrade. Someone informed him of his fall, and Eric erupted. He was berserk, pushing through into the cockpit. “You go back!” He roared at Gretel.  
“Negative Sergeant, if I return, we all die,” Gretel remained as calm as she could.   
“I am ordering you-” Eric spat indignantly.  
“And I am telling you!” Gretel cut in smoothly. “I can hardly maintain control, sergeant. If I return, I jeopardise the lives of everyone on board.”   
“That’s not a definite! If we don’t go back, Danny dies.”   
“Everyone out.” Gretel said, pulling Eric closer by the arm as N’golo and another marine left the cockpit, sealing the door. “Eric, I understand. You two were close. But this is about more than that. It’s about survival, and the greater good.”   
“Just get us back in one piece.” Eric slumped down against the door, holding his head in his hands as he wallowed in pity. The Pelican zoomed over the sands, eagerly awaiting their long overdue rendezvous.  
Little did they know, it would run far longer overdue. The Pelican landed a few hours later, leaking coolant and spewing copious black smoke. The jolt as they scattered sand upon impact stirred Eric enough to stand. “What’s the problem?” N’golo peered into the cockpit. “We have no fuel,” Gretel tapped the fuel gauge lightly “I suspect there is a leak, or inefficiency due to the load and damage to the superstructure. But I am no engineer.” She left her seat, squeezing past N’golo to go outside.  
“This is shit,” N’golo observed, seeing the expulsion of oily fluid as Gretel tugged on the hull. It evaporated quickly in the hot sun. He gripped it tightly, stanching the flow for her. “How far to the base?”   
“Twenty miles, if I recall correctly.” Gretel said between breaths, as she continued to work on stopping the leak. “Twenty-three point four miles to be exact,” Simon said from the cargo bay. He appeared, boosting Gretel so she could better fix the flow. N’golo leaned his head back and cursed softly “Fucking hell. I was hoping for a break. Have we not got enough gas to go twenty miles?”  
“It’s critical.” Gretel said simply, distracted by the work.  
“Son of a bitch.” N’golo frowned, rolling his shoulders. Gretel tapped his arm, and he released the pipe. It gushed ever more fiercely, and she quickly tried to halt the flow. N’golo returned to his post as pipe man.   
Twenty or so miles didn’t seem especially far, but it was enough to be difficult. Especially in their condition. “Can we not walk it?” A passing marine conscripted into the repairs asked.   
“It is an option I would rather avoid,” Gretel explained, “Bravo Two is not in perfect shape, and the wounded or drained cannot hope to make it. Not in this heat.”   
“I gotta agree,” A female trooper attending another’s wounds piped up. N’golo nodded, “We take the pelican or we don’t get anywhere.” He was determined not to leave anyone else behind, not to mention, if he never had to walk in the desert ever again, it would be too soon. “What can we use for fuel out here anyway?”   
“Nothing. Unless sand is petrol now,” Simon said mockingly. It got a few laughs, but not from N’golo. He slipped deeply into thought, then said “Ying, hold this for me. I need to go chat with D.”  
N’golo retreated into the troop bay to find the exhausted ODST sad alone. “What you stuck inside for? Don’t you want to sunbathe?” He wasn’t being entirely satirical. Many of the marines and soldiers had abandoned much of their uniform in the blistering hear. The ODST’s own regulation systems had long since failed, leaving most of them to trudge around in as little clothing as they could get away with. “I prefer shade,” Dimitra said quietly  
“Not a bikini girl? Never saw you as one anyway,” He said, trying as best he could to dispel tension. “Sir, if you have a point, I beg you make it soon.”  
“I was about to get there. Alright, so we need some help. Fuel’s gone and we need a replacement. That being said, you don’t happen to carry anything spare in that pouch, do you?”  
“That is a negative. However,” she drifted off, tapping the device on her wrist earnestly. “I believe I can synthesize some. Or an approximation.” Dimitra didn’t even look up from her pad. That was a pity, as the way her superior’s face lit up at this sentence was astounding. “You’re being serious?”   
“Sergeant, I never joke when chemicals are involved,”  
“You’re a regular Mary Poppins, aren’t you?” N’golo laughed, resisting the urge to hug her so hard her back broke. “That’s a reference I have to admit I’m not familiar with. If you will leave me to my work and prepare a team to apply the fuel, I will be done before repairs are complete.”   
In the time it took for them to prep the refuelling, Dimitra had made a small compound of fuel. “Jesus, I could kiss you,” Simon laughed, placing an oily hand on her shoulder, infused with energy from the knowledge their mission was nearing a close. For now. “I didn’t want to walk any more than you did. And I’d prefer if you didn’t,” she shrugged his arm off.  
“Oh, of course. Sorry,” He sputtered, backing away awkwardly. Eric had emerged from his slumber and had pieced together his psyche. “Give me it, I’ll put it in.” He snatched the canister from her hand and climbed up onto the dusted hull. “Please be careful sergeant. It drained my supplies, and is barely enough to carry us. We cannot allow any to go to waste.” He gripped the top and twisted it vigorously, cracking the seal. He slid the cylinder into the hold, tapping the bottom to make sure every drop filled the tank. “Done. Now let’s get back to civilization.” Eric dropped down into the sand, bending his knees as he landed.   
The others were safely inside, protected from the scalding midday sun, but N’golo held Eric back. Eric tensed “N’golo look, about oversleeping-”  
“No, fuck that. We were tired and there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s Danny, Eric. Are you gonna be alright?” Eric nodded, unable to speak. He missed him, terribly. The war had ripped everything from him. His home, his family, his friends. All he had left was his soldiers. Danny Edwards. One more name on a grave. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”  
“You sure?” N’golo’s face showed desperate concern for his friend. “If shit’s going to hit the fan, let me know, alright? I’ll hold them together if you need a time out.” When Eric nodded, but didn’t reply, N’golo said awkwardly “He died a hero, at least”. Eric nodded again, speaking softly. “He didn’t want that. I remember him, years ago, saying ‘I don’t want to die a hero. It’s a cliché! I want to die in an interesting way. If I die in the army, I want to be blown up with my pants down my ankles. They’d have a hard time making me sound brave and valiant then!’” Eric paused, trying to ignore his throbbing heartstrings. “We laughed about that at the time, imagining all the ways he’d die stupidly. One was falling out his pod as it landed and getting blown up. Then, a week later-not even that, a kid no older than Simon in there, had the exact same thing happen. Boom, and he was gone.”  
Eric froze. He remembered him. Simon looked just like him. Irish, he recalled. They called him Irish. He wasn’t, but his last name had been O’something. So, Irish had stuck. The poor kid. Eric had wiped the boy off of his visor. Like rain on a windshield. He looked down and could still feel the blood on his hand. It was shaking. He felt guilt. Horrid, intense, guilt. Simon was a boy, and he’d expected so much from him. “He was only a kid…”   
“Eric, there was nothing you could do. For either of them.”  
“They don’t deserve this. Neither of them do,” Eric said sadly  
“And we do?”  
“We know what we signed up for. We’ve had lives, N’golo. We’ve lived. All those kids we outlasted had lives to live.” His heart sank, and he walked past the others with his head down, staring at his feet. He didn’t say anything, not to Gretel, nor Dimitra, not even Simon. Least of all him.


	5. Tarbeth Troubles

The Pelican dashed over one final dune and saw the vista they had long awaited. The sands ended without warning, changing from waves of beige sand to placid blue water. An ocean as large as a continent unrolled over the horizon. And past it. As far as the eye could see didn’t do it enough credit. Slashes of waves tumbled over each other, occasionally crashing into the shore with a slight plume of fresh water.   
A metropolis rimmed the water, skyscrapers pushing into the sky like sunflowers. “Well shit. That’s new,” Simon whistled. Gretel got to explaining  
“It’s the largest freshwater ocean we’ve ever found. On any planet,”  
“Ironic really. A desert planet has a massive ocean,” N’golo said  
“That is why we were here in the first place. The UNSC intended to drain the water, for off world use. Shockingly, this didn’t go down well with environmentalists,” Gretel continued  
“So they say. Those ruins have to be something to do with it,” Simon considered  
“ONI probably got wind and pulled the plug,” N’golo added, “the environmentalists probably worked as a cover story.” Gretel said nothing, instead hailing the Sunbreaker, which was hovering over the city.  
One short conversation later, and they were cleared to dock. The Pelican landed in the mostly empty hangar bay. The hissing hydraulics of the door gave way to stumbling sunburnt soldiers spilling out over the deck, scattering sand. “Bravo Two?” A deckhand called them over, observing the ruined soldiers with a mix of pity and disgust. “Aye, that’s us” Eric nodded, waving the deckhand over. He smiled politely at them, ruinous as they were. “Captain Ball wants you on the bridge ASAP, come on. I’ll take you.”  
“What, not time to clean up?” N’golo asked sardonically. The deckhand ignored him. They followed the plump man through the sprawling mass of corridors and elevators, until one lead them to the bridge. “She’s just inside.”  
The filthy, fatigued soldiers were out of place in the pristine bridge. “Staff sergeant, glad to see you,” Ball extended a hand. Eric shook it and looked around.   
“Captain, if I may ask, what happened here?”   
“That I will tell you in a moment, but first I ask you recount your own adventures. I am most curious.” Eric quickly told her what had happened, allowing the others to clarify any mistakes he made. “I understand. That is an incredible feat, for such a small team to not only witness the arrival of the covenant, but then escape from behind enemy lines with a complement of soldiers? Superb. Those lives you saved will be vital in this effort. However, I suppose it’s my turn now,” Ball paused for a moment to compose herself.  
After a sip of water, she sat down and motioned for them to do the same should they choose. Only Eric stayed standing. “The first time we noticed a problem was when we lost contact with the Galilee. This meant we prepared for an assault, and we managed to hold better than the covenant was expecting. From what we can gather, they were plotting an invasion for a long time, and the ‘desecration’ of what ONI has called ‘religious’ ruins, they decided this was unacceptable and must be stopped. That is why the ruins were not glassed. But I digress. The first day of the invasion was a few hours after the Galilee went dark. Three CCS-class battlecruisers emerged from slipspace, apparently guarding a CSO-class assault carrier. This fleet attacked our defences and likely would have destroyed us then and there if we hadn’t have been ready. The assault carrier broke away, literally flying through the orbital defence platform, destroying it on impact.”  
“This hole in the armour allowed it to enter the atmosphere, followed by a battlecruiser, and presumably regroup with the ship you evaded. The remaining two battlecruisers were left to defeat the fleet, and they almost succeeded. The loss of a Marathon cruiser and two Paris frigates is a tragedy, but it saved us from destruction. I don’t need to lecture you on the importance of denying covenant air superiority.”  
“We are on the back foot here. We did destroy the two battlecruisers, but the one that isn’t supporting the assault carrier is currently shelling the city of Tarbeth. I hate to ask this of you soldiers, but I need your help.”  
The statement made the air frigid. Everyone in the room felt the tense atmosphere. Eric rose to the challenge. “I understand, captain. Whatever you need,”   
“We need anyone we have down on the ground. You have demonstrated your admirable skill, and so I ask that you drop into the city, rally the troops, and reactivate the missile racks to help drive away the battlecruiser from our city,”  
“We can do that,” Dimitra backed up Eric. “But, if I may ask, why are you waiting here and not attacking them yourself?”  
“Believe me it would give me no greater pleasure, but it would spell doom for the ship. We are not capable of defeating a battlecruiser alone. We were at first hunting them, as they searched the planet for signs of life. Of course, with ninety nine percent of the population living on the shore of the ocean, it took them some time. Evacuation began, and a frigate has fled with much of the population. Now, we wait for them to return, hopefully with backup.”  
“Was it wise, captain? To potentially lead them to other colonies?”  
“I did it in confidence. As helpful as the frigate would have been, I can’t condemn those people. Not to mention, the covenant was too distracted, and a one frigate is too poor a target.” She took another drink. “Four hours ago, the Battlecruiser found the city. They deployed ground forces, not wanting to damage the city in case it held more ruins, we assume. We were refuelling when I was informed, and then you arrived. We will drop off you and the other ODST squads in the city while we await backup from the remaining two frigates.”  
Dimitra hardly dared to ask, but she spoke without meaning to. “Captain, can we not have time to rest? We are dreadfully exhausted and, if I may say, hardly capable of combat.” Ball paused, clearly thinking. Eventually she reached a decision. It wasn’t much better. “I can allow you to partake in the final wave. It deploys six hours from now. I apologize, but it is all I can do. Rest well, soldiers. You’ve earned it.” They quietly thanked her, and almost sleepwalked to their beds.  
It was a cruel twist of fate. What they had thought would be a rest was in fact going to be their greatest challenge yet. A trial by fire? That was nothing. Try a trial by scorching heat, unending marching and plasma scoring. It was more in line with the ODST way.   
A wide holo table dominated the centre of the room, bathing the darkened room in a sea green hue. Around it, the ODST detachment were gathered. Not only Eric’s team, but all of them. Gretel yawned, trying to hide her exhaustion. She had slept for much of the six hours, but rest didn’t help her aching bones and stiff limbs.  
Every asset available was being deployed on this mission. It would fail otherwise. Easily fifty ODST’’s were present, and this final wave was the smallest. Ideally, they would be support for their predecessors, who would have captured the uplinks. “Staff Sergeant. Good, you’re here. We can begin,” the tallest ODST spoke clearly “this is Tarbeth.” Dimitra gasped, drawing Gretel’s attention. The map changed, showing the city. It was heavily damaged, with buildings bent and snapped like so many trees in a hurricane. Over the bulldozed city, a battlecruiser was hovering, an ominous asteroid ready to unleash a barrage of molten death. It didn’t look good.   
The screen flickered a little as he continued “The objective of our mission is to either destroy or otherwise disable the battlecruiser, callsign Dark Moon. We will be first deployed here, here, here and here; the plazas. One to each team. From there, you will work your way through the city, supporting the UNSC forces inside. When we break the covenant lines, we will assault the missile racks and secure them, allowing them to resume their shelling of the cruiser. When we do this, the Sunbreaker and a complement of longswords and sabres will attack the cruiser and keep its shields down, until the remaining frigates arrive to destroy the ship.”  
“They always keep it simple for us, don’t they?” an ODST joked. The tall major replied earnestly “You don’t need to worry about that, we worry about getting those missiles up and then protecting anyone still in the city. Dismissed.” The major planted his stylized shark helmet on his head and beckoned for his squad to follow him. Eric and the other squad leaders did the same.   
N’golo browsed the weapons racks like one would a bookstore. He enjoyed weapons. Not in a sadistic or strange way, but they were simply fascinating. Learning their age, calibre, mechanisms, why they were designed like that. The MA series for example. He personally found them hard to fire. The bullpup design, while it allowed for a longer barrel, made it a hassle to reload. Instead, he used a pump action shotgun usually. Pump was standard issue, because it was more reliable and easier to make. Satisfying too. “N’golo, fetch the team’s gear, we’re dropping in five” Eric walked past to meet the others. “Sure thing.” He packed up and soon joined them.  
Dimitra reached for a Battle Rifle and noticed her shaking hand. The violent tremors stopped when she gripped her wrist. She looked up hastily, checking fir anyone who noticed. No one. She rounded a corner, breathing heavily. She jumped as Gretel soundlessly appeared. “Dimitra, what is wrong?”   
“Doctor! Nothing, just my nerves” She began to say, then remembered what had happened at the base. She took a deep breath and said “My father.” Her eyes told the rest. Gretel’s mouthed opened slowly. Carefully. “Dimitra, I am so sorry. But you can’t let your emotions cloud your judgement.”  
“I’ll find him, and I will save him.”  
“No. Not directly, you won’t.” Gretel said sternly. But not cruelly. “Dimitra, you and I have a responsibility. When we allow our own emotions to cloud our actions, we risk the deaths of everyone on the planet.” Gretel briefly considered calling her off this mission. She decided not, understanding the desperation for soldiers. She’d just have to keep an eye out. “Remain focused. Breathe. You’ll be fine and so will he, so long as we do our jobs.”  
“How can you be so sure?”  
“Because, if we fail in our mission this planet will be eradicated. If we succeed, the planet will be in a far better situation.” The session was drawn to an impromptu close when Simon called from the hallway. “We’re dropping soon.”  
“Of course. We’ll be right there.”  
Eric was loading a pistol while the others got in their pods. The major walked along the hallway, glaring at the soldiers in the pods either side. “Troopers! Are you ready?” He bellowed with a gusto so infectious they had to reply. Albeit, for many, it wasn’t enough. “I said, are you ready?” When he received little rpely, he changed tactics. “Alright…Today we drop feet first into hell. Not the first time for many, but for those lucky bastards who get to experience this, you’ll enjoy it. Nothing ike hitting the floor like a rocket and killing aliens to cheer yourself up! Besides, this is your chance! Your chance to create a story your kids will want to hear. Chance to save a plaent. Chance to earn the name Helljumper! Am I right marines?”  
“Yes sir!” They roared. He smiled, getting into his pod.   
“You’re god damn right.”   
This was it, the giant roulette wheel. Hanging over a warzone, billowing with wind and bullets and explosions. Prayers were exchanged, tension threatened to overpower them and adrenaline ran like booze in a bar. It was a lucky dip, and they just had to hope their luck was good. Gentle prayers of “I am green, and very very mean” were commonplace. Each and every soldier in a pod was on a frayed nerve, twitching like a violin string. It was ringing, growing louder and louder still.  
The string snapped. They were away, plummeting from low orbit down, down, down, to the planet. The pods were unstable to say the least. An all-encompassing death rattle pervaded their ears, devouring anything they could possibly hear. An aggravating quake shook their bones in their bodies. Nothing was comfortable anymore. “Holy shit, you weren’t lying about the ’Feet first into hell’ bit!” Simon cried, his voice trembling from the vibration. “This is only the ride there son, wait till we drop. You won’t be able to sit down for a week!” Eric exclaimed, gazing at the world as it zipped by him.   
Miles over the city, an aerial graveyard loomed. They silently passed by, gazing at the scattered remnants of destruction. Gretel glimpsed a frozen corpse in a cruiser window, and guilt threatened to make her vomit. The orbital defence platform was a splintered collection of discarded debris, floating aimlessly through space. The wreck smashed apart as an empty cruiser, like a discarded husk, passed through it. It was scarred by plasma damage, a painting of searing cuts along the hull. The two frigates joylessly paraded further away, fractured from multiple differing assaults. They had been overpowered and left dented and bruised, floating through space. The remains were scattered through the stratosphere, pinned in place. Forever doomed to wait, a warning to any that dare challenge the covenant’s might.  
The clouds started to mist around the pods, obscuring their vision. Any regret or sadness they felt passed, masked by the pearl grey clouds all around. Dimitra felt her feet begin to heat up, boiling her flesh. The hot, burning sensation continued to grow, sweat running from her pores. Like a blessing, it soon cooled as they rushed by the low clouds. Suspended water and falling rain doused the fire in moments.  
Dimitra then looked to the planet. What little glimpses of the battle she saw, the UNSC were losing. One ship took off, simply to be swatted out of the sky by the cruiser. It was like a fly near a frog. What were they being dropped in to? This was suicide. But she had signed up for this, she supposed. Time to harden up. A steel expression solidified on her face, unflinching even when the crack of anti-air cannons rumbled in the distance.   
“Major, we got flak!” an ODST warned, “Should we abort?”  
“Negative, alpha nine! We have to push through!”   
“Understood sir,” the solider replied. Fear wormed out of his throat into his voice. Like a snake, it ran through their minds and urged them to disobey. Run, it seemed to say. Save yourself. One soldier must have had his will shattered. A pod broke from the formation, careening into another’s path. The major roared “Trooper, what are you doing? Get back-” He stopped speaking as it caught flame. Purple, sticky plasma ran like tears down the shell, scalding the soldier inside. His pained screams were silenced by an explosion, the fragments smashing two more pods open like eggs.  
The surviving pods shuddered as the parachute jettisoned out of the rear of the steel coffin. “How many drops have you been in, sergeant?” Simon asked  
“Me? Thirty-four, give or take a couple,” Eric’s voice was static through the radio  
“How many sims?” Dimitra said  
“Don’t insult me! I don’t count sims!” Eric started to rant, but he was unable to be heard over the rushing air and unrelenting fire. Three more pods detonated, one failed to deploy a parachute and two passed behind a skyscraper, and didn’t appear on the other side. “Sound off everyone, we’re landing. If we get split up-” The major e didn’t finish the sentence. They had passed the threshold of the city’s upper layer. Their communications were killed instantly by the overwhelming amount of aircraft, explosives and general chaos occurring around them.  
Eric grinned as the shockwave of the landing blasted through his body. An old, familiar feeling. More importantly, it meant he was alive. “Thirty-five.” He grunted with satisfaction. As he looked around the dimly lit pod, he tried to recover from the extreme stress of the drop, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck.   
Sunlight streamed through the glass, casting shadows on the dancing dust floating around his head. The four locks on the pod flashed red. One after another, he bashed them with the flat of his palm, ejecting the door into a tree in front of him. The glass disintegrated around the scorched bark, mixing with the chorused hiss of the pneumatic mechanism. The assault rifle to Eric’s left was an MA5B. It fired a smaller, weaker round, but it was essentially a fire hose. Nine hundred rounds per minute and a sixty-round magazine meant that if it had an operating manual, it would go as follows: Hold down the trigger until you heard a sharp click. If it isn’t dead? Run for the hills. Nothing can kill it.  
Eric removed the MA5B and his magnum from the holsters in the pod, crouching behind the now tragically bent tree. He glanced around, looking for anything in the harsh shadows. In the swirling dark, nothing stirred. Eric stood back up and looked for a way out. He had found his way into the plaza, the expected drop point; but no-one else had. “Bravo two, does anyone respond? This is bravo two one, respond, over.” Silence. He cursed, looking for a stairway. If he could reach higher ground, he’d be able to establish a better connection. Until then, the others would have to look after themselves. How well they’d do that, he wasn’t sure. Eric took one last look around, then walked into the building.  
Gretel had landed in the ocean. The pod had sunk fifty feet into the briny deep before she could do anything about it. The locks on her pod had never been hit faster. Her hands had been a blur, slamming each button in rapid succession. A deep breath entered her lungs, then she was away. Her pod was abandoned and she was struggling, pumping her limbs to reach the surface. Forty feet. She started to feel a slight itch. Thirty feet. Her arms started to tire. Twenty feet. Her lungs burned. Ten feet. She felt her vision start to darken. The final few feet, she was barely conscious of her actions. When she broke the surface, she treaded water for an inordinate amount of time, very aware of the glorious feeling of air entering her lungs.   
The shore was only a short swim away, luckily. A comparatively relaxed breast stroke later, she was back on dry land. It took all her effort to stop herself from kissing the ground. It was only when a hum of plasma fire drew her out of her trance that she became aware of how vulnerable she was. Looking down, she saw only her pistol. An M6 socom. With three magazines. “The pod,” She lamented, slapping her forehead. All her gear, helmet included, was still in it. She had forgotten to take anything else in her hurry.

Meanwhile, on the road to her right, a squad of marines were squatting in the cover of a tipped warthog. The jeep jarred with the force of the attacks, but it resisted. “This is lance corporal Koenig, broadcasting on an open channel. Marines, I see you on the K89 Underpass, I am ready to assist,”  
“Some support? Oh, fuck me, thank god! You’re a godsend, you know that? We were riding along when we got ambushed. I count three brutes, two elites and a pack of jackals!”  
“Understood. I might have fallen from the sky, but I am no angel. I’ll draw their fire, be ready to hit them.”   
Gretel was in position to the rear of the covenant. Her pistol felt heavy in her hands, the barrel dripped water. The excess moisture pattered on the concrete as she raised it to fire. The water turned to steam as she pulled the trigger, a bullet penetrating the skull of the nearest jackal. It was as silent as a pin dropping. Two more whisper quiet rounds left the brains of jackals on the floor. The elite was the first to notice the disturbance. It turned and roared, leading the way for the brutes to start firing at her. She ducked, a bin barely blocking the bullets. Flaming spikes of metal embedded themselves in the side of the thin sheet metal, leaving it looking like it had hugged a hedgehog.   
The marines rallied at the sight of the deaths of their foes. Even as a small squad they were terrifying, charging from cover, their guns sending death to anything they saw. Screams of fury erupted from their bared lips, louder than any gun. Within minutes, they had reduced the aliens to something that would have to be cleaned up with a mop. “I see why when they need something done, the army sends in the marines,” Gretel laughed, peeking her head up from the bin. One marine twitched his rifle at the her, lowering the weapon when he saw her. “Corporal! How’s it going? Glad to see you left some for us,”  
“I pride myself on staying alive, soldier. But I appreciate the compliment.” Gretel approached the soldiers and reloaded her pistol. “I need to regroup with my squad, and doubtless you have a mission of your own?”  
“We did, yeah. Died with the CO though. Right now, I only care about getting these boys out of this city.” A different marine spoke, his voice deep and gruff. The others, who Gretel noticed were wounded, nodded in agreeance. The deep marine was doubtless the leader.  
“I see. Does the jeep still work, perchance?”  
“It might do,” He looked at the smoking vehicle. “Those are tough bastards, warthogs. Big as a bear, too.”   
The third spoke softly, stroking his chin. “If we can get it the right side up, I don’t see why it couldn’t be good to go.” They each gripped a side and, with tremendous effort, flipped the jeep. “If I wasn’t going to have back problems in later life, I certainly will now,” the leader said, rubbing his back.   
“Where did you intend to go, lieutenant?”  
“Parket plaza. Nearest place a Pelican would fit.”  
Along the way, they retrieved Simon. He had been trapped in his pod, unable to release the hatch. They only stopped because it had been stuck in the middle of the road. Gretel had stopped them passing by, reasoning that, even if the soldier was dead, they could retrieve the body and perhaps the equipment. Upon their attempt, a pounding inside revealed that the occupant was both alive, and Simon. Gretel had comforted him as they worked. By the time they had got him out, everyone was sweating, frustrated and tired. They also observed the many bombing runs by the covenant, then witnessed the atrocious ferocity of UNSC counter offenses. It grew so much, that by the time they reached the plaza, half the city was rubble. Simon was trying his best to remain focused, but every shopfront they passed left a bitter taste in his mouth. Burning homes, corpses all around. The thick atmosphere of dust and yellow sand made it hard to see, move and breathe. Soon, it grew so impossibly viscous that they could no longer see the pavement, nor the wicked remains scattered across the front. Simon was grateful for that, at least.


	6. Mall Crashers

N’golo and Dimitra had managed to avoid the massacres outside, taking refuge in a shopping centre. The Brunwold Recreational Park was the heart of trade in the city. It was also, unfortunately, a maze. The twisting, endless tunnels and open atriums had meant both soldiers had been lost countless times, only finding each other through dumb luck. “Sergeant?”   
“Rookie? Come over here, before I turn around and get lost again,” N’golo ordered  
“Sir, where are we?”   
“No idea. Somewhere near the centre, I’d guess. If we were close to the perimeter, it’d be louder.” He was right. Even in a warzone, it was strangely still in the plaza. “We need to secure this place. I don’t want to think about the civvies in here.”  
“With all due respect, did we not have an assignment, Sergeant?” Dimitra questioned  
“We did. I’m overruling it,” he started to walk into the hallway. “Word of advice, D. Even if you’re on the threat of court martial, you save lives.”  
“I was told to secure results. Save lives where you can, but complete your objective.”  
“They’re chatting horseshit. Those covvie bastards are trying to exterminate us, so lives are top priority.”  
“I disagree. The major said, should we recover the beacons, we will save the lives of everyone in the city.”  
“Sure, in the long run. But what about before then? We’ve got a mission. We also have potentially hundreds of people we need to save. Fuck the orders. When we save all these people, then secure the beacons, we’re looking at commendations.” He started to run up the stairs. “Not to mention, you won’t be able to sleep at night, otherwise.” He added, with a grim tone to his voice. Dimitra looked down at her missing leg, thinking deeply. Her mind passed to her family, and she gritted her teeth. Readying her weapon, she followed N’golo.  
Dimitra caught up soon after and opened her mouth “Shouldn’t we get out a message? Ask for some backup, try and meet the others?” N’golo kept on moving, but pondered the suggestion. “Try and get something through, but we don’t focus it,” He suggested, rounding a corner. “If we get caught up waiting for backup, they’ll be backing up a graveyard.”   
Dimitra nodded agreeance “This is bravo two four, we are at the Brunwold Recreational Park. We require immediate assistance. Heavy civilian and covenant presence.” Surprisingly, Eric’s voice rattled through the helmet radios.   
“Dimitra? Well hell, I never expected to hear your voice again”  
“Thanks,” she said sarcastically  
“Not like that, it’s just it was hot today, and you’re green as grass. Anyway, I’m waiting on meeting Simon and Gretel, then we’ll find you. ETA, thirty minutes,” he promised. N’golo raised his eyebrows “Eric, that’s half an hour too long. We have way too many people to save, and too much ground to cover. Ten minutes at max.”  
“I’ll see what I can do, no promises” He sighed. N’golo raised a fist to Dimitra and kneeled behind the railing on the balcony.   
Dimitra followed him, listening intently. From their position on the upraised balcony, she could see the shattered skylights, leaking sand in at an alarming rate. The sky was turbulent, the wind picking up from a whistle to more of a growl. The growl more interesting to her however, was the growl of the brutes down below.  
A luscious, bustling jungle was compacted into an enclosure in the centre of a plaza. The dislodged leaves carpeted the once marvellous marble tiles, now scarred from use and marred by the brown smears of blood. Three humans cowered in a corner, heavily wounded and bleeding from their mouths and the myriad of scars littered across their rags of clothing. The brutes grunted to each other, ignoring the soft rattle of far off shots. “D, I need you to distract the brutes. A smoke grenade, a flashbang, anything,” N’golo whispered through the radio.  
“I’ll get right on it. What do you plan on doing?” She spoke as she made the thickened, impenetrable mix. “I’m going to kill the brutes.” When he had finished, she passed him the metal tube into his open hand.   
N’golo flung the box over the railing, tossing himself after it. The drop was easily ten feet, plenty of time to start shooting. The buckshot exited the tube in a supernova of such radiant fashion one could have mistook it for a floodlight. The brutes flinched from the sudden, unexpected feeling of a dozen shards of lead rupturing their ape-like skin, pouring purple blood over their fur. When he landed, N’golo rolled, not breaking his stride.   
The shotgun never stopped firing, acting as the beat for a terrible music of death. The chattering of Dimitra’s battle rifle was more than sufficient to reinforce him. Three rounds entered the dense skull of a brute, leaving the other side streaming strands of viscera. She repeated the process for the second brute, who was dead before his brother hit the ground. N’golo’s boot print was a mix of amber sand glued to the azure blood. It left a trail from the alien corpses to the injured humans. “This doesn’t look good,” Dimitra observed, running down the stairs. She looked at N’golo “You really shouldn’t make a leap like that. It’ll damage your knees.”  
“You’re starting to sound like the doctor,” N’golo knelt down to check their wounds. “The bomb didn’t go off,” a woman sputtered, pointing to the space beyond the jungle. “Oh, it wasn’t meant to. I just couldn’t lug it down with me.” Dimitra stared at him in disbelief. “You had me make a smoke bomb so you could not use it? Those elements aren’t cheap!”  
“We’ll use it at some point, but go fetch it, will you?” Dimitra complied but was visibly irate. When she returned she was livid “Am I your lap dog now? This,” she thrust the canister in his face “is a work of art”  
“Not a lap dog, I’m just your superior. So, can it, and follow me.”. N’golo stood up, rubbing his bloody hands on his breastplate. Dimitra looked at him. “Where to now? And what about the people?”   
“Clever bastards aren’t even hurt, they just faked it,”   
“What if they aren’t safe?” Dimitra asked  
“They look like walking corpses. I told them to drop to the floor and stay still when the shooting starts,”  
“You really think that’ll work?”  
“It can’t hurt their chances, and we can’t drag them into a battle,” he shrugged. “Now come along Dimitra dearest, we have people to save, arses to kick, and no time to do it.”   
Eric was tapping his foot impatiently to a tune from the small radio on the barrel to his right. The street he occupied was deserted, but he hoped soon it would be far more populated. A cigar was in his mouth, glowing gently in the pale light of the sinking sun. In the distant, he could see a sandstorm stirring. He didn’t know if it was a good thing, or a bad one. As he pondered the question, the hum of a warthog engine became noticeable. Quickly, he extinguished the cigar and grabbed his rifle. He had departed the roof a few minutes ago when he had finally re-established contact with Gretel. When their jeep finally pulled up, he launched into a rant. “Where the fuck were you? I’ve been twiddling my thumbs for almost ten minutes now! The others could be in the ground ten times over by now!”   
“We got here as quick as we could. I’m still coughing up water, Simon is spinning like a top, and we’re a poor rescue party,”  
“Well, we’re stretched thin, so we’re the best they’ve got. And water?”   
“My pod went into the ocean. I hardly made it,”  
“Jesus. I’m surprised you’re still coherent,”  
“I always am,” Gretel smirked  
“Whatever you say,” Eric tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Gun it to Brunswold Park. Sharpish. If we don’t get there soon, someone is gonna need a grave.” The jeep jetted off down the promenade, their words snatched away by the air.  
N’golo and Dimitra were so engrossed in their debate on the usefulness of the smoke grenade, that they unintentionally bumbled into their foes without noticing. The two marines were deep in conversation, loudly voicing their opinions when a barrage of bullets blasted the air where they had been. “Bastards!” N’golo shouted, snatching the smoke grenade and detonating it. “Change of plan!” He exclaimed, taking Dimitra by the hand. “You weren’t kidding when you said this stuff was thick. It’s like a guta’s shit!”   
“You have a way with words,” Dimitra observed, still being dragged along. They reached a counter far to the left of where they had been. The brutes were still intent on finding them were they had been. Luckily, the smoke had billowed out farther than either had expected. “Get Eric on the horn, we need him here now. Gather the people, I’ll watch your back,” N’golo sprinted out into the open, waving his hands in the air. “Oi! Got a nice, big, juicy banana for you!” He thrust his crotch at the Brutes, who turned, puzzled at the gesture. They understood enough to know it was an insult however, and started firing. “Sergeant! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Dimitra cried, slipping two bursts at the brutes. “Fuck off D, like you had a better idea! Now get those people,” he kicked his foot back, launching a grenade into the line of brutes.   
The grenade rolled, ticking menacingly as it did. The brutes looked down, puzzled at this newfound device. They stood staring, unaware of the consequences. When the grenade erupted in a tangle mess of steel, fire and flesh, N’golo laughed aloud at the comical stupidity of the apes. “Dumb sons of bitches. That was easier than I thought.” He holstered his shotgun and turned around after Dimitra when a sound behind him caught his attention.   
The brute stood, open wounds dotting its brown, hairy skin and singed, sparse fur. What little of the unkempt wool remained softly glowed like embers on an open fire. “Huh. Are you their fireman?” The brute didn’t respond, merely staring at the soldier, panting like a bull. “What, gonna charge me? Let’s go,” He bent his knees, arms resting on the joints. Standing like a sumo wrestler, he pawed the ground with his foot. A plume of dust spread from the motion, filling the air. “Sergeant, this is unwise,” Dimitra gripped her weapon tightly, backing away when the brute grunted angrily.  
“Don’t distract me.” N’golo rolled his neck, waiting for the brute to make its move.   
When it did charge, he was ready. It barrelled towards him, half a tonne of muscle. Even with his plan, he was afraid. If he mistimed it, he’d be dead before he hit the floor. It carried on, panting and sputtering, a call of his impending death. Only when it roared, mouth wide open and head arched back, did he react. N’golo’s pistol cleared his holster in a flash, a hot lead round passing through the roof of the brute’s mouth. It ripped away flesh and tore into its brain, scrambling the puny grey matter. He sidestepped the falling ape, a grin stretching from ear to ear. He twirling the smoking barrel, holstering the pistol like a gunslinger. “I’m a fucking hero.”  
In a stroke of pure luck, most of the civilians had at least had some bright ideas. They were grouped together. Dimitra had stumbled across a suspiciously locked and untouched store. Inside the wrought iron shutter, heavy breathing and hushed whispers were tentatively feeling out from through the net of holes. With her SMG in one hand, and the bottom of the shutter in the other, she pulled up the mostly automated door. It rattled open surprisingly easy, taking her off guard. She had leapt back as she pulled, making some space. The bowling pin shaped woman who dived at Dimitra was saved only by her sweaty hands. The grease covered tourist grabbed the end of the barrel and pushed it into the air. Her slick hands slid from the black steel and saved her an unfortunate death.   
One unwanted discharge and two hasty apologies later, she had their attention. “I’m corporal Simonides. I’m an ODST”  
“You came to rescue us?” A thick Irish accent asked. Her heart sank. Taking a glance at all these people, Dimitra didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was a happy accident and, more importantly, she’d intending on leaving them to their own devices. “Yes, I’m here to rescue you. Are any other people still trapped in here?”   
“Not that could have been helped. Anyone we left behind was either dead or so close to dying that they will be now. This is everyone,” An old man at the front saluted her after he spoke. A quick glance up at his cap told her everything she needed to know. An ex-soldier. That explained his eloquence. “My initiative tells me you are responsible for these people’s survival, lieutenant?” Dimitra saluted the man back.   
“I am. I’ll help you gather them up, and if you have a weapon to spare, I’m a dab hand with a rifle, if I do say so myself.” Dimitra unbuckled her pistol and passed him it. Quietly, she asked him “You haven’t seen a man, Greek? In his mid-forties?”  
“Not that rings a bell. Friend of yours?”  
“Father,”  
“Oh. I’m sorry girl. I’ll keep an eye out”. She thanked him and started to round up the people. “I will guide us back to sergeant Arendse. Watch our six?” She suggested  
“I can do that, let’s go. Something’s bound to have heard us by now,” The man stood staring out across the hallway while the troop passed by. When the last man had started to walk, only then did he stir.  
The plaza where they had first encountered brutes was empty, so they paused to recollect. “What’s wrong, why did we stop?” N’golo asked. They had found him earlier, scavenging for any survivors. “We need a plan. We can’t just stay here forever, walking around,” Dimitra said  
“What else can we do? We’re lost, and until we get outside and meet Eric, we’re on our own.” A screeching noise passed out of a nearby clothing store. Someone had lifted a shutter, giving way to a swarm of angry drones. “Fucking hell, everyone scatter!” N’golo roared, blasting the insects into smithereens. Goo and chitin rained down as they rushed to cover. Anyone with a weapon didn’t bother to aim, instead pelting the rolling horde with bullets. They fired and surprisingly, neutralized the colony in minutes, with few casualties.   
Dimitra panted heavily, knees bent. “Something was bound to hear that,” the lieutenant said.  
“You’re right…something big, most likely,” N’golo added  
“We need more rifles,” Dimitra said   
“Duly noted,” N’golo replied, thinking quickly. “People, listen up! We can’t order you to do this, but anyone who wants to volunteer to fire a gun, would be most welcome to.” The crowd shuffled uncomfortably, with only a few daring to step forward. N’golo fought the urge to scream and smiled. “Thanks. We’re holding here until backup arrives. Then we’ll get you people out.”  
“Pass them around,” He and Dimitra discarded their weaponry to the civilians, taking up the unwieldly brute weapons. They hushed the civilians into the store from which the drones had emerged. Dimitra funnelled the final people inside and made to shut the gate.  
N’golo placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “In you go.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I need someone to protect these people. If we go down, you’re all that’s left,”  
“Then let me stay out there, keep you from falling down.”  
“No way. I want you watching my back, believe me. It’s because I trust you you’re in there. Now get inside and keep your head down. Those people are relying on you to keep them safe.” She pouted childishly and nodded, ducking below the grating. N’golo slid it shut behind her. He turned, raising his spiker and spoke loudly. “I don’t know what’s coming, or when. What I do know, is that we’ll give it a hell of a kick when it gets here!”  
Dimitra, huddled inside the store, listened intently to the battle raging outside. Gunfire and explosions rattled their place of refuge and dust dislodged from the ceiling. “Shhh!” Dimitra hushed a gaggle of panicked children. “We have to stay quiet, else they will find us,” she sighed, scanning the darkened room once more. Her weapon was held tightly and she used her VISR to observe the pitch darkness. Quickly, she glanced at the time. Surely, they would have finished off the brutes by now?  
N’golo flew through the air, slamming into a vertical advertisement for a watch of some kind. It shattered on impact, scattering glass, plastic and his blood across the floor. He groaned in agony, discarding his crumpled helmet. His spiker was raised limply and he pulled the trigger, wounding the encroaching brute. It held in its hands the two halves of one of the volunteers, flinging the bleeding meat at him. He ducked below the body, his blood running cold as the beast raised him above its head in a death-grip, throwing him into the grated cover of the storefront.  
Dimitra had heard the rounds entering the brute, and its screams. She hadn’t expected her comrade to enter the store, through the grating, body-first. His motionless frame skidded to a halt at her feet, slumping to the floor. The brute peered into the gloom, a look of confusion on its face as she fired three rounds into its brain. The body collapsed and the occupants of the store exploded into motion.  
Clothing flew from display racks, notes of currency moving of their own accord, like bats in surging from a cave. “Sergeant! Are you ok?” People screamed inhuman cries of anguish and pain, pushing and heaving to escape the enclosed night of the store. “Sergeant?” Dimitra carried on firing, trying to keep people calm. Outside, she thought she saw a few people returning fire. “N’golo, get up!” Dimitra kicked him harshly in the ribs, and he remained motionless. A corpse smashed into her side and she hit the floor. Dimitra was overwhelmed, trying to keep the covenant outside of the store and the occupants in. “This is bravo two four! I need support, anyone! Brunswold Park!” An escaping woman pushed her and Dimitra fell back down, unable to save her as a brute gripped her leg, dragging her into the daylight. Dimitra repeated her call. “This is two four! I need help, they’re inside! I have civilians, brutes inside. Request any support, over!” It was too much. One by one, the brutes converged, diving into a slaughter.  
Dimitra was cast aside into the shelving, her rifle slipping from her grip. She watched helplessly as a beast snatched it up and disembowelled a woman as easily as swatting a fly. It proceeded to roar, dousing itself in her blood. Dimitra began to cry, bolting out of the store. She passed a man, who was pinned to the floor and screaming in pain, the picture of agony, as an alien pawed at his skull and chest, gouging away the flesh and skin. A scarlet smear stretched across the exit and Dimitra slid to the floor. The wind was pushed from her body and a massive hand pulled her back into the rolling, tumultuous depths of the massacre.  
Eric slammed down on the throttle of the warthog. They’d dropped off the wounded earlier, and now he was driving. The call he’d gotten from Dimitra had been the final straw. “That’s the place,” he said over the roar of the engine “Buckle up, the door’s locked!” The jeep charged over the edge of the overpass, flying through the plate glass window overlooking the entrance hall. It landed smoothly, skidding on the varnished, sand smothered, glass covered floor. “Mind if I drop in?” Simon quipped, spinning up the minigun. He looked around at the devastation, a lump forming in his throat.   
He spun the turret round, pulling the trigger. The simple device spewed fire, breathed destruction. The gleaming shopfront was pounded by countless rounds. Smoky plumes of shattered concrete rained down, burning under the torrent of rounds. Azure blood painted the store, masking some of the slaughter. Under heavy fire, a concrete pillar snapped, ploughing the upper level of the balcony into the ground. It buried the store in stone, the flashy felt curtains wrapped around the dusty clumps of broken stone, burying the doorway under tons of dead weight.   
Meanwhile, Eric had slipped out of the driver’s seat, stepping over the broken human corpse. He didn’t flinch when the glass shattered in front of him. Didn’t cry when the gleaming shards showered over the helpless men and women inside. Not even when the roof collapsed over them did he make any move. He merely sighed, and started to dig.   
Her hands were bloody. Congealed around her palms was blood. More than she had ever seen. It wasn’t hers. At least, not all of it. Most of it belonged to the elderly man slung across her body. Dead. Of course he was. Three spikes had wormed their way into his gut. He’d still been moving then. He’d only stopped when a lump of stone larger than his chest had turned his head into mush.  
It took her a minute to realize she had been passed out. When she came to, the screams had died down. They were moans now. Aching cries, laments of agony. The music of death. The rawness of her throat told her she’d been screaming, too. Not that she remembered. She rolled onto her front and crawled out from under the rubble. Dusty rocks slapped the ground next to her head. She waited with baited breath, waiting for one to hit her. Waiting for her death.   
It never came. A man heaved her from the wreck, pushing her away from the landslide that they were so vulnerable to. It was all over for her. She knew it. A quick look down told her that. A gash had emerged in her abdomen. It punctured her breastplate, running from her navel to her waist. She placed her finger inside. They felt nothing, and the light was too poor to see any more than fuzzy, dark shapes.   
Eric was faintly aware of his progress. The silence following the outburst from Simon was tense. He didn’t show it, but in his mind his hands were shaking. In between the muzzle flash, misty dust and falling rock, he was sure he’d seen Dimitra. He’d seen too many good people die to let her go now. So soon after the others? It couldn’t happen. “Gretel,”  
“Eric?”   
“Tell Simon and the marines to search the rest of the mall. Take the hog, we’ll stay here and help these people,”  
“Of course,” She turned to walk away, then turned. She was hesitant to speak. “Eric…are you sure you wouldn’t rather search the rest? Simon and myself can handle this.”  
“I want to be here. Now go tell them.”  
“Sergeant,” she saluted and walked away.   
When she returned, she asked him one last time. “Let me unearth it, Eric. I don’t think you want to see this.”   
“No, I fucking don’t want to see it! But when did anyone care what we wanted? We chose this life, and if anything happened to her, I’ll find her!” He said cruelly. He knew he shouldn’t have snapped, but he couldn’t help it. Civilians were strewn across the plaza. If the others were inside, he’d find them. Dead or alive.  
Dimitra’s foot slid over a keeled over brute. It grunted in shock, flailing its muscled arms around. She heaved a knife from its sheath, fiercely thrusting the sharp steel into its skull. Beside her, a grunt was dragged into the open and kicked to a bloody pup by the filthy mob of bleeding, tired people. Cries of infant children bled out in the artificial night. Every so often, an orange flash would shine, blinding everyone in the room. They soon recovered, working away at the pulverized entryway. “Come on,” she croaked “we have to get out.” It wasn’t clear if enough air was entering the room, but she felt very light headed, even with her helmet sealed tightly. It was mostly useless now, but she wasn’t sure she could bear to let anyone see her face.  
In the complete black of the store, time was a mystery. There was only digging. The main doorway was no hope, but they continued to punch away at the mass. Instead, the main force was divided amongst the furthest window from the collapse. Little rubble was there, and it didn’t take long before they had some hope in their hearts. Dimitra had even recovered an SMG. From where, she didn’t know. It had seemingly appeared in her hands. “When we get through, warn me,” she ordered the man who had retrieved her. His name was Michael. His gruff tone was comforting, and he was resourceful, so she had elected him her second. Unofficially of course. Then again, what was official about any of it?  
That had been easily two hours ago, and she was leaning back, taking a well-earned break from the digging of the main door. Three times she had fired her weapon, ending another potential massacre at the hands of the beastly covenant. Five times she had disturbed a mob pummelling a creature. Now, she was breathing heavily, trying not to think about the searing pain in her chest. If she could just get out, then it would all be ok. She hoped. A sudden exclamation to her right gave way to an intense inflow of silvery white light. The endless nightmare had come to an end.  
In the same moment, a guttural crumbling overpowered her senses and the doorway she had so eagerly worked on was sucked away, flooding her perch with an overpowering glow. She threw up her arms above her eyes, crying at the shock. Slowly, and shaking uneasily, she managed to stand. Her first step sent her weakly to the floor. She sobbed, gritting her teeth. She wasn’t dead yet, and she would be damned if light finished her. Dimitra locked her knees and marched out into the open air. Her weapon in hand and her back straight, she faced the world anew.  
Dimitra strode confidently out into the plaza. Her limp was gone, and her lip didn’t quiver. The sea of escaping people split to her sides, rushing out to the fresh mass of civilians. “Dimitra!” Simon cried out. He’d returned with the other empty handed. She didn’t react. Her eyes flitted to glimpse him, leaping from the warthog, rushing for her, but her stride never broke.   
He rushed at her as if he were a wave to shore. When his body met hers, he threw his sore arms around her, locking himself tightly to her. She staggered back, unreactive. He rubbed her back and gently whispered to her “You’ll be ok.” She slowly, stiffly returned some of the comfort. Her gun slipped from her fingers, and she allowed her legs to buckle. As tears ran down her face, Simon whispered “It’ll be fine. It’ll be ok.”  
Eric watched the pair reunite. His heart ached as he felt all the anguish drain away. He tried his best to ignore it. He had a job to do. “Gretel,” he muttered, motioning her to him. “We need to get these people out of here.”  
“How do we do that, exactly?”  
“The flak on our way down tells me a pelican is out of the question. We don’t have the vehicles we’d need for a convoy…” He sighed loudly “I need you to ask around, help some of these people. I don’t have a clue what happened in there, but I need Dimitra back up to par for the missiles.”  
“That’s not acceptable. I don’t know what happened in there, but that woman isn’t the girl we knew. I won’t let her hold a gun until I’ve had her back at base and talked to her.”  
“Now it’s my turn to say that’s unacceptable. We’re fighting a war, Gretel. Keep an eye on her, have a chat, and get back to me. We’re already understaffed, and if she survived whatever that was, she’s tougher than she looks.”  
“I’m telling you, the missiles are something we can concern ourselves with later, Eric. We need to focus on the people.” Eric swore softly and kicked a stone across the tiles. It clattered loudly against a boulder and he began again.  
“You need to see the bigger picture. Those missiles are stopping us from really pushing them back. The faster we get them online, the sooner we can eliminate the threat. A couple hundred stranded civvies can’t stop us from completing our mission.”  
Gretel sputtered “What’s gotten into you? Those ‘couple hundred civvies’ are humans! People, Eric! For the love of God, how could you?”  
“Easily. Like I said, I see the bigger picture! We can’t let these people cloud our judgment.”  
“It’s not about judgement. It’s about morals. If you want to secure those missiles, fine. But I’m staying, and I’m certain Simon will too.”  
“Are you disobeying an order?”  
“What are you going to do? Court martial me? With all due respect, sir, we are fighting a war. Like you said, we’re too understaffed to worry.”   
“Fine. Fine, we’ll get them out. But speak to me again, and I’ll rip your tongue out through your teeth. Now walk to Dimitra, while I search these bodies.” He added shortly after “That’s an order,” to rub salt in the wound.  
Eric pulled the weapon from the cold hands of the corpse. He blinked away a tear and dragged his body aside, pushing it against a wall. There was nothing to use a shroud, so he was left there, a scarlet trail at his feet. Two more plainly clothed ‘soldiers’ joined the pile. After those, Eric was panting. His back hurt and he was tired, but he dug his feet in and looked at the bloody ODST.   
He looked at the shotgun that hadn’t left his hands. He felt the weight in it. Barely any. Six shells, all empty, were scattered around the corpse. It looked bizarre, like a pagan burial festival. Acorns left to feed on the body, return it to nature. Eric slid the helmet off his best friend’s corpse, paying painstaking attention to the wicked ruby line running from his left temple to his jaw. The helmet hung in two as he set it down, looking like a sick joke, a grotesque lower lip dangling sickeningly below the face.  
The lower piece tapped the floor and N’golo twitched. Eric scrunched his face, puzzled. Rigor mortis surely hadn’t set in so soon? But it happened again, more vigorously this time. His chest started to rise more noticeably, and Eric slid N’golo’s eye open. The pupil dilated as light struck the disk, shrinking to less than a pin head.   
Air filled his lungs. A drawn-out gasp followed by a cough filled his lungs with the most enjoyable breaths he had ever taken. “Fucking hell!” he exclaimed. Eric chuckled, partly in joy and partly to hide his sob. He embraced the man and said “You never change, do you?”  
“I’d be a boring sod if I did, wouldn’t I?” He grinned, patting his friend’s back. “Help me up, yeah?” Eric let go, laying him down.   
“You can’t walk? Gretel, get over here!” He pushed N’golo down again and quieted him. He wasn’t going to let him worsen.  
Dimitra and Eric were taking quietly in the corner while Gretel worked. “Sergeant, Gretel is right. We have to evacuate the others,” Dimitra said softly. Her tone had not risen above more than a hushed whisper since her escape. Quietly, she doubted it ever would. Eric was terrified for her, and by her. He didn’t ask what had happened, but the look in her eyes filled him with awe and horror. Gretel had mentioned her mental health, and he currently feared for her. But he knew there was nothing he could do. Instead, he had told her to focus on the task at hand. It would fade in time.  
“Orders are orders, we have to arm the missiles. We’re overdue already,”  
“Do orders come before people?” She asked sceptically. Eric glanced over at the many bodies lying in a pool of blood, then at Dimitra with a tragic look on his face. How many had died, for what? “Dimitra, those people…”   
“Don’t talk to me about them. You can’t imagine what they did.”   
He hesitated, wary of his words. “Those people died for something. That something, was to see their planet survive.” He paused for breath, examining everything he would say. “If the planet is going to survive, we have to arm the missiles. If we don’t? All of this will have been a waste”.   
Dimitra was quiet for a long time. All they heard was the soft chatter of the people around them. “We can’t leave them here.” Eric shuddered and was silent. He focused and spoke softly. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. I don’t have a fucking clue how we get them out of here.” Outside, the dull rumble of guns grew closer. They ignored it. Dimitra said “If they did remain…”  
“It wouldn’t be for long. Brutes. Brutes mean they’ve deployed kill squads. Demoralize us, exterminate us.”   
Dimitra shot him an evil glance. “Don’t lecture me on kill squads.” Her bloodshot eye was full of venom. He looked away from her gaze and apologized.   
Simon had been in a world of his own. His feet tapping against the bumper of the warthog, he had observed. He’d always been good at that. It was helpful, he had found. In a hotel? You always know the rich ones, who’ll tip. In the army? You know who to shoot. In situations like this? He had found you’d be surprised how much people will let slip in a stressful situation.   
“The sewers,” Simon proposed, entering the conversation. Both Eric and Dimitra jumped out of their skins, and she punched his upper arm gently. “Don’t do that.” She hissed. Eric quickly continued Simon’s train of thought. “There’s no way any alien would even think of that. You’re a bloody genius!” Dimitra winced at the mention of blood, but otherwise seemed to agree. She was as positive as one would expect, in the circumstances. “We’ll escort them and-”  
“I’m going to have to meet you half way. We’ll arm them, but they go their own separate way.” Eric cut in decisively. Simon, well aware of Eric’s feelings on the subject, took what he could get. “So, what? We tell them the plan, give them a flare and send them on their merry way?” asked Simon. Eric nodded, and Dimitra acted without thinking once again. “I will tell them. It will be received better.” The men didn’t dare argue.  
Eric meanwhile, met up with Gretel. N’golo was awake and, amazingly, standing. “Eric, good to see you took your sweet time,”  
“I got here in the end, how are you?”  
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s in a decently stable condition,” Gretel remarked dusting blood off of his breastplate. “Thanks Doc, you’ll make me blush,”  
“I don’t mean to be rude,” Eric started, sounding like he definitely didn’t care about being rude, “but are you combat ready?”  
“I’m not sure about that,” Gretel spoke for him, but Eric glared at her.   
“I asked him.”  
“I’m good to go, Eric. Calm it and leave her alone a minute,” N’golo said. Eric nodded “Good, then we can start moving out. As soon as Dimitra has the civilians sorted, we’ll be good to go,”  
“We can’t expect her to possibly come with us, after everything?” Gretel asked, incredulously. “We’ve been over this. We don’t have the manpower,”  
“Fine. I’ll keep an eye on her,” Gretel conceded   
“You’re out of your mind? The girl needs a full psych work up!” N’golo protested  
“Not catching feelings, are you?”  
“If half a brain is feelings, call a clinic. Eric, I don’t want to imagine what she’s seen. Give her a gun and she might snap and shoot us all down.”  
“Sounds like feelings to me,” Eric said. He sounded as if he was trying to avoid answering N’golo. “She’s young enough to be my daughter. Anyway, send her back Eric. She doesn’t deserve any of this,”  
“She made her choice. We all did,”  
“What did you always say?” Gretel cut in, “’They’re just kids’?”   
“They’re both coming. End of discussion. Disagree one more time, and we’ll discuss it in a court martial.”   
Dimitra was sweating. Burning droplets of molten lead ran down her face, tracing lines across her pasty skin. A bobbing, chattering mass of distressed people looked to her for their next move. She took a deep breath. It steadied her trembling limbs and soothed her irritated throat. A small group was waiting around a pack of damaged, bloodstained belongings. Dimitra sat on a tartan case and coughed to get their attention.  
A man, loosely holding his ragged arm by his side spoke “What do you need, miss?”  
“Sergeant Stevens has decided to evacuate you all. In order to minimize casualties, we intend for you to disperse through the sewer system,”  
“I see,” another woman said “Who’ll be coming with us?” Dimitra slumped forward, holding her swirling head in her hands. The thought of what had happened in the store…All those people, murdered. No, butchered. Bile rose in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow it back down.   
“I…I apologise but…no one will accompany you”  
“What?!” The woman exclaimed.   
“Be quiet! Don’t panic everyone!” The man hushed her. “Of course, miss. Why don’t we have an escort, if I can ask?”  
“Our primary mission was to activate a missile silo. We chose to assist you, and I assure you, if there was another way, we would choose it. We simply do not have the resources or soldiers to risk failing our mission. I am sorry, but you must do this alone.” The people muttered unheard words, and though she saw the disappointment and fear in their faces, they relented. “Whatever we have to do. Can we at least keep the guns?” He asked hopefully. Dimitra nodded and rose to leave. Her head shook like a fish bowl and she asked one final thing. “Tell the others yourselves, please. I am in no situation to speak publicly.” Dimitra let before he could argue.


	7. Ghost Patrol

The soldiers kneeled or sat in a circle around the map Eric had laid out on the ground. “We have to move deeper into the city. Cut through the side streets to this lakeside mansion,”  
“A lake in a city?” N’golo asked, disgusted at the idea.  
“People like luxury,” Simon shrugged  
“But anyway, we get there, then support or replace a marine squad there. They set up the button there, and the missiles are on the hillside across the lake. We only prime the missile link for remote detonation from Sunbreaker. When the missiles are primed, we defend the primer. Got it?”  
“We got it.” They all repeated, standing and loading their weapons. This was the tip of the spear. A coordinated ground and aerial strike against the covenant. These missiles were the opening of the wound, which the Navy would pinpoint and enter, twisting their claws ever deeper, vanquishing the beast. At least, that was the theory.  
In half an hour, they had carved a path through the heart of the war-torn city. The sandstorm creeped ever closer, threatening to envelop the combat in a mystifying haze of swirling sand and snapping bullets. The air started to swing, rocking them from side to side. The ever-present battlecruiser hung in the air, its menacing presence distilled a sense of dread in the humans. Eric and the others fought valiantly where they could, quashing whatever resistance they found or guiding any innocent people they encountered to the rendezvous at the sewers.  
Simon first caught a glimpse of the mansion. “There it is.” He pointed at the sprawling mass. It was a modern style house, with white walls, glazed wooden beams and glass windows and barricades everywhere. The front door was elevated above the street by a grand staircase, flanked on both sides by marvellous statues and well-kept plants. The V-shaped approach was grandiose, yet to reach the decorative display, one had to traverse a more military site. Evidently, the UNSC had secured the area. What would have been a barricaded, reinforced door was reduced to a pile of burnt rubble. Two steel guard towers creaked and groaned in the wind. It was a desolate sight.   
The squad moved closer to the front door. The street had a burst fire hydrant on the same pavement as the mansion lay on, gushing water into the air. The fresh liquid was marred by the red streaks trickling from the steps into the pool of stagnant liquid at the base. The lampposts were arched, dented and otherwise damaged. The flickering lights encroached the oncoming gloom with brief flashes of grim yellow glow. Occasional sparks of blue looked akin to strange moths, orbiting a flame.  
The sun had sunk back behind the metropolis in the distance, casting long, disturbing shadows on the faded grey asphalt roads. “Heads on a swivel, people,” Eric ordered. The pavement was surrounded by rows of residential structures and budget businesses, atop which radio antennae, chimneys and other devices stood. “I don’t like the look of this,” Simon muttered, stepping over an eviscerated corpse. Up on the roofs, perverted attempts at sniper perches or scout posts lingered solemnly, the lone watchers nowhere to be seen. “I suppose they tried to hold it,” Eric asked, “though they don’t seem to have done a good job.”  
“It’s still here, ain’t it? That’s good enough to me,” N’golo remarked, glancing sorrowfully at the dead. Dimitra did too, thinking deeply. They had followed their orders. But at what cost?  
The street they were on was silent, but clearly hadn’t been that way for long. “Check the perimeter,” Eric ordered. Dimitra and Simon uncovered a still burning warthog, buried in a shop front to the left of the alley it exited, bricks scattered around the bonnet. The windshield was mostly broken, with a gaping hole, from which poked a bloody soldier. “Got a body,” Simon reported, pulling the man free. His neck was twisted at an unnatural angle, gazing at the barricade on the road to his rear. “Didn’t make it,” Simon called. “Poor sod,” he added, quietly. He gave one more glance over the ruined front, then said upon returning to the doorway “It was clear. Nothing.” The sandbags were strewn across the road; clearly their attempt to stop entry had failed. The other evidence of this was the plasma pocked, steely grey walls of the military blockade. Blood was pooled and splattered around the site. Limbs and clothing were piled together, detached from their deceased owners, many of whom could be found mere meters away.   
The squad left the side of the road they had exited, moving over the thoroughfare to the house. One could piece together the events from what was left. Soldiers who had died protecting friends, others who had shown cowardice, deserting their posts. “Jesus,” Simon crossed himself. A pile of corpses, better described as a puddle, blocked their way. “Looks like 100% casualty rate,” N’golo noted, checking a body.   
Not all the casualties were human however. Many covenant corpses littered the way, poked full of holes. “It looks mutual, at least,” Simon piped up. Eric grunted, pushing through. A brute had been hit by a weapon of such force, you could see perfectly through the wound it had made. Brass shell casings rolled around in the wind, whistling softly as the air passed through them. “Gotta give it to them, the army are determined bastards,” N’golo noted, looking around.  
“They didn’t deserve this” Eric closed the eyes of a soldier who had died petrified.  
“Maybe if we’d got here sooner,” Eric started  
“Don’t,” Gretel said in a hushed whisper, shooting a look at Dimitra, who was silent, shocked at the displays of horrific, terrible violence. “If we had left those people, this would have been their fate. I do not disagree, this is a brutal tragedy. My heart weeps for these people. Yet, we must understand that these soldiers had a mission. They chose this, Eric. We all did. Those people?” Gretel waved an arm at the civilian corpses lined against a wall, crumpled at the base, “They did not. It is our duty to protect them. No matter what.”   
Dimitra was distant, staring down the road when Gretel noticed her distress and guided her up the stairway. Simon was focused, staring at the doorway. “We need to get inside. If we waste any more time, it might all have been for nothing,” he said coldly. Eric nodded and slowly trudged up the cracked steps to the house.  
Unsure of what would await them, they prepared for the worst. N’golo forced his boot into the handle of the door and it swung open wildly. Jamming his weapon into the brightly lit room, he scanned the surrounding area for a threat. “Clear.”  
“I don’t like this. Why are the lights on? Someone home?” Eric muttered as he walked inside. “I agree. This is suspicious,” Gretel walked behind Eric.   
“As long as there is no covenant, it’s fine by me,” Simon said  
“Careful, you don’t want to jinx us,” Eric warned  
“Sir, you don’t honestly believe in that stuff, do you?” Dimitra asked  
“The way I see it, it can’t hurt to do whatever you can to help,” Eric sounded offended. They didn’t have time to resume the conversation.  
The room they had entered was a joint kitchen, diner and entertainment room. It was about forty feet wide and thirty feet long. On the right, sofas, plump footrests and other seats were gathered around a seventy-inch black television. The expensive, leather backed chairs were tipped and torn. The centre of the room was a gargantuan banquet table. Mahogany wood, shining to the point of being reflective. Coasters, glasses and cutlery peppered the glazed surface. A minibar was on their direct left, just next to the door they came in from. Drinks of all types were on the shelves. To the north, in front of them, a wall of once polished windows looked out on the placid lake. Around the basin, war now raged. Atop the hill, a rack of green missiles lined the sand swept plateau. A decking was outside the windows and on it sat one colossal object was sat.  
All five of them, together, ran out onto the decking to the box. It was clearly military in origin and was scratched with deep grooves. The paint was peeling in many places, with dents abound. “Is this what we’re looking for?” Simon asked inquisitively  
“I would say so,” Eric ambled toward it. “Gretel, Dimitra, get to work. N’golo, watch their backs. Simon, you’re with me. We search the house. Radio us if anything goes south or you get it working. If we don’t reply for three hails and it works, activate it. Leg it, don’t come looking for us,”  
“You can’t ask us to abandon you,” N’golo decided.   
“I’m not asking,” Eric said firmly  
“So you’re ordering us to abandon you?” Dimitra cut in. The hypocrisy in her tone didn’t escape her. Hadn’t it been her, barely an hour ago, begging to put their mission over civilian lives? She knew she’d never make that mistake again, at least. “If it comes to it, that’s my order, yes.”  
“With all due respect, sir, we can’t do that. Like you said yourself, we are painfully low on men,” Dimitra continued  
“Enough. You two rookies get started on that, I need to talk with the grown-ups a minute.”  
The trio gathered in the hall, and Eric got to explaining. “N’golo, obviously in the event I don’t make it out, you take command,”  
“Eric, I can’t,”  
“You’re the officer. It’s not a choice,” He said, looking to Gretel next. “You keep him in check, else he’ll get you all killed.”  
“I won’t do that!” He protested  
“N’golo, you are an excellent soldier, but Eric has a point. You are far too brash to have a unit,” Gretel agreed   
“Anyway,” Eric tried to bring it back. “Keep them all alive. Three hails, then get out.” When they stayed staring grimly, he shrugged cockily. “Who said I won’t make it back?” He sent them back to the dining room and left for the search with Simon. They walked in silence.   
The pair had searched most of the mansion when they received a radio call. “Sergeant, are you there?  
“I’m here. What’s the issue?”  
“We have almost reactivated the machine. Unfortunately, it appears to have sustained quite a hit and needs to warm up, so to speak. It would appear this is one of many targeting systems, linked to the missile silos. A code has been inputted, most likely the signature of the battlecruiser,”  
“Understood. Any info on the situation across the city? Comms have been spotty, especially underground.”  
“We have received very little. Mostly chaotic chatter asking for backup. We have overheard the name of this fleet,” Gretel sounded far happier about this than Eric felt it warranted. Nevertheless, he entertained her. “Go on, what’s the news?”  
“Our battlenet has dubbed it the ‘Requital of Dissension’,”  
“Quick question, what the fuck does that mean?” N’golo and Eric both asked the question. Phrase slightly differently. “In short, it means Vengeance on Heresy.”  
“Heresy? That’s religion, right?” Simon asked.  
“Quite the opposite. The religious persecute heretics,” Gretel explained.  
“Like the Spanish inquisition?” Simon asked  
“Exactly like the Spanish inquisition. Except the covenant do not burn at the stake, but rather glass planets.”  
“Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition,” Eric said quietly, chuckling.   
“Quite, sergeant. That being said, this is very important. It proves the ruins were religious in nature. How is still unclear, but it gives basis to the invasion,”   
“Other than genocide,” N’golo added sardonically  
“It makes sense. If these guys are here to secure ruins, not invade, that explains why they had sucj a small fleet,” Eric admitted  
“Small? They’ve kicked our arse to the moon and back!” Simon protested  
“We’re fighting back,” Eric emphasied. “That’s more than pther colonies can say. If they were here to end us, they’d send another three battlecruisers, or at a push another assault carrier.”  
“Eric has a point,” N’golo agreed  
“We’ve been side-tracked enough. I’m sending Simon back. The mansion is all clear except for the pool room, but I can handle it alone.”  
“Hurry back safe, I’m getting bored,” N’golo added.   
In the dining hall, Dimitra sat back, panting. The device was functional, thankfully, but her pleasure did little to assuage the loud doubts in her mind. Every time she blinked, the faces of those who had died in the store came back to her. As she walked to the bar, she felt drained. Without realizing, she had removed her helmet and put it on the polished bar. Sitting opposite N’golo, he passed her a glass of gin. Comical as the scene was, straight from a sitcom, she didn’t see the funny side. Even so, N’golo played up the role. “Howdy there, traveller. Come to drink your troubles away?” he asked, in a mocking accent. He made a good barman. “Come on, girl. What’s the matter?”   
At first, she didn’t answer. Honestly, she didn’t know. Taking a sip of her drink, the burning down her inflamed throat snapped her mind to the present. It was loss. She assumed. It felt like it. A dull ache in her chest, a drained mind and most of all, overwhelming guilt. She looked down at her suit, and wondered. The dried blood was crusty and brown. It cracked away as she moved. A curious thought ran over her mind, gently disturbing the fragile sanity she had built up.  
In the fabric she wore, blood was still present. Smeared across her face. Splattered on her hands. Blood. The essence of life. What had sustained the people she tried to defend. In a sick way, those people were still with her. And soon enough, she would cast all this aside and wash them away. Shadows would not remain, dark patches. But the evidence needn’t be physical. That made true loss, emotional loss so brutally punishing. When her leg had been taken, she had cried. That had been physical loss. This, what she felt now, was true loss. Agony that couldn’t be fought or beaten. Only ignored.  
N’golo looked at her inquisitively, refilling her glass and asking again. This time, she drained the glass in a single draught and began to speak. “Did we do the right thing?”  
“What?”  
“Tell me, N’golo. Did. We. Do. The. Right. Thing?”   
“In the mall?”  
“Yes, in the mall! Did we do the right thing, saving those people?”  
“Of course, we did, what sort of question is tha-”  
“A pertinent one.”  
“I don’t know what that means. I think Gretel is better to talk to for this,”  
“I don’t want medical diagnosis. I want an answer.”  
“Alright,”  
“Did we do the right thing? So many of those people we tried to save didn’t make it. The ones who did will never sleep easy again. And though we tried, looka t all those who still perished. On the approach. 100% casualty. Had I focused on the mission, they might be alive.” Dimitra snatched up the bottle and chugged.  
“Might.” He took the bottle, enunciated the word fully, almost chewing on it. “They might have lived. You know what though? Those people we did save? They’ll thank us. We did them a favour.” He paused, gauging her reaction. “You see those people down there, bleeding on the steps? We did them a favour. We’re making their sacrifice worth it, Dimitra. Those civilians were facing death in the face, and we saved them. Those soldiers? Died doing the same. Only, they chose this life. They chose it, because people like the ones we saved needed it. They’ll rest easy knowing we did what we did.”  
“What about me? How should this make me feel? Surely not so cold?”  
“It’s natural. Pain, loss, sadness. It’s all natural. The important thing, is not to let it stop you. There’ll be times you feel guilt, but you did all you could. Don’t ever feel guilt. Don’t feel guilt when you have a brief moment of clarity, of joy. Because loss isn’t permanent, and they’d want you to be happy.”  
The room was silent. Laboured breathing from Dimitra slowly ceased as her heartrate slowed. The overwhelming fear she had felt receded and something new replaced it. Not hope, no, but…acceptance. She sobbed once, holding the others inside. “Thank you.”   
He smiled at her, raising his glass in a toast.  
“To the mission. To the future. To those we’ve lost on the way.” They drank silently, and Dimitra righted one of the armchairs, slipping into an uneasy sleep. Gretel clapped softly, approaching N’golo.   
He smiled sadly at her, putting his glass down. “I don’t believe it. You have been paying attention,” Gretel said smugly.  
“Spend half a decade getting counselled and you pick something up,”  
“Quite. That was remarkable; you have taken my job from me,”  
“I wouldn’t go that far. We need to make sure she lives long enough to recover first.” He looked up and chuckled quietly. She was very beautiful, especially when she smiled. And nothing made her smile quite like he could.   
“Almost makes me wish we were back there again. Giving it all another chance,” He admitted  
“I understand. You know, we could try again? What we once had could easily come back.” N’golo looked at his feet. He knew it could. It hadn’t been bad last time. Far from it. In his mind, he knew he wanted her more now than ever before. She looked at him and smiled. “No,” he said. Gretel’s smile faded, and her heart sank. Quickly, she adopted her more terse manner. “I understand,”  
“It’s not like that. I want us more than ever, but it won’t work. It didn’t last time, and I’m sorry. I’m not prepared for that again, and deep down, neither are you.” Gretel nodded. He was right. The highs had been incredible, but their lowest moments? She still shuddered to think of their vile disputes over risk. He was right. It didn’t dull the blow.  
Eric scoffed and opened the pool room. It was pitch black and completely silent. “Simon, go back to the others. I’ll scout this and we can be on our way”  
“Doesn’t it make more sense to stay together?”   
“If it was anyone else, I would.”  
“Permission to speak freely sir?”  
“Granted,” Eric paused and looked directly at the younger man.  
Simon bubbled with rage, erupting in fury “What is your problem with me? Why do I get so much hate?”  
“You don’t.”  
“I’d say I do! What is it you’re so afraid of? Why do you hate me like this?”  
“Strictly speaking, I don’t hate you. I hate that you’re so undisciplined, so clumsy. You have a lot of potential, you just don’t realize it, and it’s going to get one of us killed. It’s going to get you killed.”  
“I can handle myself!” Simon retorted  
“This isn’t about you. This is about the others. I love those soldiers like family, and I won’t let anyone, least of all one of those family members, to endanger that. You say you can handle yourself. Can you? No, you can’t. And that overconfidence is as deadly as meekness. Did you ever wonder how N’golo didn’t get his own unit? He’s a good soldier, but he’s too confident. Now get back up there.” With that, the conversation was clearly over.   
Eric activated his VISR and the room was bathed in a synthetic yellow hue. Red outlines marked hostiles, green meant friendly. Eric was confused, as he saw a red mass carrying a lone mark of green. Surely that couldn’t be right? Only, it was the truth. His eyes didn’t deceive him. Three spindly drones were hefting Simon into the air, higher and higher. A short burst from Eric’s assault rifle broke their grip and propelled Simon into the pool.   
The water splashed into the air, the arcing white froth touching the roof. This and the sounds of the screams and rifle disturbed the hive. “Simon, get out!” Eric held down the trigger, bracing into the recoil of the fire. Drones plummeted into the water after Simon, blobs of green blood diluting in the water. As more and more woke, screeching like oversized beetles, more and more fell into the pool. The room started to flood as the sapphire water burst over the rim of the pool. As his ankles were covered by water, Eric heaved his knees in the air as he ran. When he reached Simon, he pulled the man out of the water with his left hand and tapped him on the helmet. “GO!” He shouted, pushing Simon forward. The duo scrambled through the tirade of water, out the door.  
Simon started to gain more and more ground, leaving Eric behind. “Simon, go! Get out of here, warn the others!” Eric cried, head-butting the drone that had grappled onto his rifle. Sticky, foul blood showered his helmet in gore. The wings of the creatures were rustling as they enveloped him. He never stopped firing, but they simply didn’t stop coming. His breath started to come shorter as they tried harder and harder to remove his helmet. Eventually he was waist deep in water and the drones screeched in agony as the splashing soaked their wings. Realizing he was safe in the deluge, Eric remorsefully let go of his weapon and slipped beneath the chlorine soaked surface, into the deep.  
Simon rounded the corner into the room, dripping wet and panting heavily. The click of a gun to his head almost stopped his heart. “Simon? What the fuck happened?”  
“The-pool, water” His words were disjointed between his strained breaths “I-dropped, splash”  
“Thought you’d have a dip? Where’s Eric?”  
“Still-there-drones, loads of them,”   
“Drones? Son of a bitch. D, get me a fire bomb, something like that. Gretel, help the kid.” They did as he said, preparing for the strike. “Help make some molotovs. This’ll be a messy one.” N’golo drained his glass, planted his helmet on his head and left without another word.  
The floor was slick with water as N’golo entered the bowels of the home. “Eric? Eric, you there?” His VISR activated, and he soon located the battered Eric in the darkness. “Thank fuck, you ok?”  
“Wet. We need to leave.”  
“Simon told me. Come on, let’s go” N’golo started to walk back the way he came when the sound of the drones became ever louder. They started to pick up the pace, cautious of slipping in the fluid. “Got any ideas on how to deal with them?” Eric asked  
“Molotovs, incendiaries, that sort of thing,” N’golo reassured. He quickly explained his plan. Eric understood and when they returned, started to put wicks in the assorted bottles.   
Simon was peering from the doorway when he saw the swarm arrive. “They’re here!”   
“Kids, grab a bottle and get ready to throw!” Eric flicked his lighter on. Simon grabbed the heavy duty incendiary concoction Dimitra had created. The bomb detonated and erupted in a conflagration of scorching tongues and rabid flames. The drones were struck with the brunt of the blow, many exploding from the heat and pressure. Black, oily smoke billowed out of the corridor with many drones still aflame. Three screeching insects, overcome with fear, dashed out of the hallway. They seized Simon and dragged him with them. The fire started to burn onto his armour, searing the plates and melting the alloy into runny black paste. The drones hefted him, straining o keep him afloat. Soon, be it from exhaustion or the scalding heat, they expired and sent hum crashing down.   
The ODST slammed into the steel box, rolling over the top and dragging it to the deck with him. As he hit the wood, the air left his lungs and he barely remained conscious. The obelisk tottered perilously, tipping onto his leg.   
The impact resonated across his body, but no one came to his aid. He cried out in pain and looked through the shattered, blackened, soot smeared windows. The window he had been dragged through had cut the fabric of his armour to ribbons, spilling bloody, burning rags onto the wooden deck. It rumbled with activity as the onrush of fleeing drones below worked on destroying the support.  
Another heavy tremor. Simon realized he was about to die. He tried lifting the box, but it was like an ant lifting an elephant. It couldn’t be done. At least he could activate it. A glistening red button was poking out of the box and Simon slammed it. An alarm blared from the box and it scrambled his HUD. The blaze had started to ignite the decking as the burnt fabric smouldered softly. Simon was teary eyed as his exposed arm burned in the fire. Finally, the decking gave way. With one last tremendous groan, it tumbled down the hillside into the lake, careening into the navy water.   
Eric saw the entire debacle occur from his precarious position under the chandelier. When the platform collapsed, it sent a resounding wave through the building. The chandelier shook with such force that the cable split in two. The glass projectile splintered apart when it landed, crushing three drones. “Simon. Simon!” Dimitra cried, punching a drone near her face. “Sergeant, we need to get rid of these buggers!” N’golo thrashed his legs into the crumped body of a glowing, fiery drone. “Follow the kid!” Eric dragged himself bodily across the floor, ignoring the hissing drones slicing his back with their vicious claws.  
Simon was submerged again, grateful of the dousing water. He was also free. His cracked helmet was leaking water, but he was capable of movement. He pumped his legs and arms to break the surface. Rising through the lake. Bubbling water, sinking plants, wood, stone and glass. Even drones sank to the depths of the water, reaching the sandy bed in their death throes. Simon avoided this fate and washed ashore mere moments before his helmet became a fishbowl. Tearing it from his head, he coughed up more water than he had ever drank and passed out, face down in the sand.   
They all ran to the edge, crossing it in different ways. Dimitra and Gretel slid down the incline, painfully aware of the outcroppings of shredded wood and loose pebbles. Eric rolled down the hill sideways, hoping he wouldn’t land on his head. N’golo however, leapt like an athlete. His muscled body propelled him into the air where he hung, suspended in the air. He turned around to face the swarm of drones following him, shooting lead into the horde. His weapon slipped from his grip as he fell. Black gloved hands scrambled desperately to grip the weapon, but to no avail. He was tugged away from the gun and sank beneath the water with a monster splash.  
Eric waded into the shallows. Sand stuck to his boots, stealing his grip and slowing him to a criminally slow pace. He swung his arms, searching valiantly for his friend. The others were on the shore, checking Simon for wounds. He had yet to wake. “N’golo, come on. Don’t be dead mate, don’t be dead.” His hand stroked something in the water. Eric whirled round to face it, snatching a hold of the object and wrenched it out of the lake. “Come on you bastard, come on,” Eric grunted, lifting the substantial weight onto his shoulders. He felt himself sink ever deeper into the water as he returned. When N’golo started to stir, he slung him off of his back into the shallow water. “I’m not a sodding kid you know, I can swim,” N’golo stared at him  
“Well it bloody well didn’t look like it!” Eric said, exasperated. Walking away, N’golo grabbed his arm. “Thanks.”   
“I’ve lost enough friends in this war. I don’t want to lose another.” Eric pulled him up onto his feet, dusting down his sodden breastplate.  
Simon had sat up when they got back, his helmet half buried in damp sand. The lake now had a slight tide, the waves lapping softly at their encased feet. “So, I feel it snap, and my chest is burning, and I think, what do I do? It snaps, I slide down into the lake and I’m free. I’ve pressed the button and I’m deep in the water. I swim up and up and up, Drones and shit falling down all the time. It’s incredible. Then I pass out.”  
“That was incredible Simon,” Gretel cooed,   
“I agree. I’m shocked you thought to activate the device,” Dimitra agreed  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Simon faked offence. Eric looked at him with a strange expression. “You did good kid. Can you walk?”  
“It’s out of the question sergeant. He’s suffered some severe burns,” Gretel cut in  
“I asked him, doc,” Eric said. He looked to Simon “Can you walk?”  
“Walk? Probably not. Hobble? Yeah,”   
“I see. Make a crutch for him. N’golo, you and the kid are getting out of here,” Eric ordered stiffly, kicking some wood.   
“I think you’re exaggerating a little there” N’golo started but Eric cut him off.   
“We all deserve a rest. A day to recuperate. In the past week, we’ve had about three hours sleep, one of us is bleeding internally and the other is halfway to being a charcoal briquette.”   
“Sergeant, you said it yourself. Air support is unavailable on account of the battlecruiser,” Gretel said. “I agree fully, but I believe such an extraction is improbable at best.”   
“We can go through the sewers. Maybe we’ll meet our old friends.”  
“I don’t like the idea of leaving whilst there is still work to be done,” Dimitra admitted. Eric said gently “. Everything that’s been asked of us, we’ve done. Mission complete, go home.”  
“He is correct,” Gretel said. “We have succeeded in what we were ordered to do, and have saved many lives.”  
“Exactly.” Eric moved to support Simon, who was struggling to keep steady. Gretel and Dimitra aided N’golo, who, though he hid it well, was beginning to weaken.   
In the same moment as the ODST’s fled, high in the sky the frigate Sunbreaker, flanked by two more craft, moved into formation. Jean was pacing the deck, silently panicked at the most likely outcome. “Jameson, what’s the sitrep?” She asked. A young man, valiantly typing away at a console, picked up a broad tablet and passed it to her. “The last missile battery came online a few minutes ago ma’am,”  
“Understood. Alert the others. We attack now.” The revelation gave her hope. Her heart had been heavy as she watched the city be battered by the assault. Very nearly had it fallen, so many times. The tragedies of the day would soon be averted, and she could finally act. No more would she pace nervously. Now she would strike. Jean gripped the low wall in front of her and tried not to vomit. It had been a difficult day, and it wouldn’t get easier.  
The first row of missiles launched. Orange spears of righteous justice. The howling fury split the blue sky. If it wasn’t for the torrent of smoke and oily fires, it would be a clear day. The first missiles roared, then the second, then the third and so on, until all one hundred batteries were empty. The darkening sky was lit up by vibrant orange trails of fiery smoke. Huge tubes of metal, filled to the brim with explosives, were roaring through the air on a trajectory to the lowest section of the ship.  
The tubular battlecruiser had hounded them for the day, battering the city with fire and death and fury. When they finally collided, it was a colossal sight. Balls of hungry flame gnawed at the shields, devouring the air around them, feeding on their energy. The protective, invisible cover couldn’t hold and split down the seams. “Shields are down,” a crewman announced proudly  
“Good. Open fire with the main cannons. Point defence cannons must remain focused on any fighters sent to hound us. Do not get greedy.”  
“Captain, what about the MAC?”  
“Charge up the MAC’s. We aim to neutralize the engines. Peking will focus on the main cannon and Soissons shall aim to reduce the battlecruisers weapons to dust. We will raze the very air around them, starve them of mercy. They would see us eradicated. I intend to act before they do.” Jean clenched her fist, slamming it off of the arm of her chair.   
The cruiser was stunned. In the bridge, the shipmaster couldn’t believe that they had broken the shields. He was even more shocked when another hail of missiles tore into the hull, accompanied by fire from anti-air cannons on the ground, Longsword fighters and the MAC rounds. Three chunks of tungsten carbide alloy launched at supersonic speed into the belly of the ship. The cacophony of the release almost drowned out the incredible impact. Almost. One after another, the functions disabled. The engines burst like overripe grapes, showering the ground in ash white soot. The main cannon began to shine a deep blood red, then a MAC round swiftly turned it into a gaping hole. A man reported eagerly “Captain, we have her on the run. We should be able to-”  
“Shields back online!” The crewman’s mouth was agape. He was about to search for an explanation floor when the battlecruiser unexpectedly turned to dust in front of him.  
The Orbital Defence Platform had launched a triple round attack, sending three of the most powerful munitions known to man into the ship. The battlecruiser was rendered useless as fissures from the impacts fragmented the ship. A thunderous thump rang out when the inferno flared into the air, blinding anyone who looked upon it. The sandstorm that had been brewing all day, having struck the city in the final moments of battle, was dissipated instantly, blanketing the city in glassy, burnt sand. A tower tumbled into the dirt, followed by another into the sea, smothering the seafront in salty water. “That was the most glorious sight I have ever seen,” a voice from behind Jean muttered. It belonged to a Spartan, clad in umber armour. “For once? I wouldn’t argue with you,” another called out.  
“Quite right Spartan. Dismissed” Jean waved them out, releasing a pent-up breath. The amassed crew were mostly still recovering, either from the shockwave, the sight of Spartans, or in Jean’s case, merely that they were still alive.  
Eric and the others were ankle deep in sand when the assault ended. They witnessed the terrifying sight of the battlecruiser, an image of horror to many, be vaporized. “Jesus,” Eric muttered with a low whistle.   
“Don’t mess with the Navy, I guess?” N’golo chuckled, sputtering weakly. He tensed up in fear as another rumble erupted, scattering them to the sand. It took a brief moment to register that, in the aftermath, the city had been weakened. Two towers, looming over the skyline like ancient watchers, cracked. They slipped from their supports, falling freely into the cityscape below. “Fucking hell!”  
“What were they thinking? MAC rounds, in the city?” N’golo coughed  
“I hope those towers were evacuated,” Dimitra said quietly. Gretel looked at her solemnly. The dark eyes betrayed her own similar fears. “That was something out of a movie!” Simon was shaking with adrenaline, giddy at the sight.   
“It was impressive,” N’golo agreed. “Risky, but-”  
“It paid off.” Eric finished the sentence.  
“It only took everything we have,” Dimitra grimly muttered as she looked over the civilians they had rescued earlier. The others fell gloomily silent. “Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Eric said. Dimitra glared at him, keeping quiet. Gretel placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder, and he relented. “Alright, just don’t piss on everyone’s parade. Especially with those lot around,” Eric pointed at the people wallowing in the waves.  
The sergeant stood awaiting the news. “Gretel, how’s the evac coming on?”  
“As expected: poorly. We should all get comfortable, we will be waiting a while,”   
“You heard the doctor.” Eric stiffly sat down. “As much as I’m thankful for a rest, sand isn’t the best mattress,”   
“I agree, but what else is there to do?” Gretel spoke mournfully.  
“What details did you get?”  
“A full-scale troop evacuation transport will collect the civilian populace. An escort pelican will disengage from the transport and extract us. It would appear the captain wishes to speak to us,” Gretel grunted as she sat next to Eric.   
“We must be popular,” N’golo laughed  
“You don’t want to be friends with the brass,” Eric chuckled. “That’s how you get hated.” N’golo agreed weakly, leaning back into the sand. “If anyone wakes me up and that transport isn’t here, I’ll drown you in your own blood.” He said softly. They had no reason not to believe him.   
A swift kick to his helmet violently wrenched N’golo from his dozing. “Alright, who’s drowning?” He spat as he sat up. “What the?” He had been buried up to his neck in sand. “The kids got bored.” Dimitra shrugged innocently. “it would be a lie to say I did not enjoy it also.”  
“Quite the entertainer, aren’t you?” He muttered, peeling himself free. “Where’s the transport?”   
“Over there,” she pointed at the rapidly approaching ship. Four olive green Pelicans flanked the oblong shaped ship. “That’s a pretty small ship,” N’golo said, puzzled.  
“The best we could receive on such short notice.” Gretel added sardonically “come. I have sand in my shoes.” The trio entered the pelican, a palpable sense of satisfaction, safety and complete exhaustion washing over them. All five ODST’s felt their worries and fears of the past day fade away in the wind.


	8. R&R

The Pelican glided softly to the floor in the hangar, eerily silent. “I guess everyone’s busy?” Eric said, descending from the troop bay. The others followed suit. A pair of bloodied stretchers were left at the base of the refuelling centre. “Shall we?” Dimitra pointed to the pieces. N’golo looked distraught “Like fuck I will. I’m not dead yet,”  
“Be that as it may, we don’t know the extent of the damage. You say you are fine, but we all know you are as stubborn as a mule.” Gretel said disparagingly  
“I know when enough is enough!” N’golo protested  
“Are you arguing with the medical professional? If the patient would prefer, the doctor can easily disregard him in favour of more pressing matters?” For such a small woman, Gretel could easily change the mood of a room. N’golo shrank back, but retained his stubborn attitude. “I won’t have you lording over me like that” N’golo folded his arms.  
“Enough. Sit on the stretcher, before you bleed to death.” Gretel held her stare, and he relented. Like a toddler, N’golo mounted the stretcher. “Alright, fine. But there’s nothing wrong with-” N’golo hissed in pain as Gretel removed his breastplate. It peeled away a thin layer of bruised, raw skin. Bare red flesh remained. “Holy shit!” N’golo managed to cry out, before he fainted. “Christ!” Eric exclaimed, rushing to aid Gretel. “Don’t just stand there, help!” he ordered. Gretel waved them back, observing N’golo’s wounds. “Likely two broken ribs, at least. Potential internal bleeding…peeled skin, mostly a flesh wound,” she raised his arm, and the spurting blood coated her face. “Perforations! Get me something to staunch the bleeding!” Gretel pushed N’golo’s arm back down, and Eric held it in place. Gretel looked at Dimitra, speaking quickly and calmly. “Get to the medical centre, down the hallway. Retrieve me a first aid kit and rubbing alcohol. Ask the staff.”   
As the younger woman raced to find the kit, Gretel returned to N’golo. “If we do not stop this bleeding, he will die very soon.”  
“I guessed that! What can I do?”  
“Keep pressure. I must search for additional wounds.”   
Gretel gave N’golo a quick examination, until Simon returned, panting, clutching a bundle of bandages. Gretel snatched them and unravelled a loop. She handed it to Eric and he pushed it against the bloody gash. It stemmed the flow, but before long the crisp white linen turned a ruby red. “Simon, give Eric fresh bandages and dispose of the others.”   
Dimitra arrived in that moment, slamming down the kit and tearing it open. “What do you need, doctor?”  
“Space, thank you very much,” Gretel said tersely. But not unkindly. For as stressful as her situation was, and Dimitra’s over eagerness, she remained focused. Gretel withdrew a kit for sutures, stitches and a clean gauze. Dimitra, understanding the procedure, wordlessly doused the gauze in rubbing alcohol. “Raise N’golo’s arm on three, Eric. Simon, you withdraw the bandages. Dimitra, give me some light. On three. One, two, three!”  
They launched into action. The arm raised with a squelch, pouring blood across N’golo’s ruined chest. Simon pulled away the bandages doused in blood, and Gretel wiped away the blood. N’golo briefly awoke from the pain, and said a single, vile curse. Then he was back under, and Gretel redoubled her efforts. With the wound clean and bared to see, she wiped her hands and gripped the kit. Swiftly, and calmly, she began to close the wound. To the best of her ability, she staunched the flow and repaired it as best she could. “Fucking hell,” Eric sank back, exhausted. Gretel, keeping her eyes fixed on N’golo, said simply “Water,” and Dimitra rushed to oblige. Simon, chuckling madly, said “How did you know?”  
“I saw when administering the biofoam. I knew he would never allow me to operate before he went to the bridge, so I insisted that he merely be carried. Of course, this caught his ribs, and provided me my time to work.”  
“You’re a wise woman, doctor. No wonder you’re good at your job.”  
“Wise words have nothing to do with preventing blood loss. If you retain pressure on the wound however,” she paused to make Simon do exactly that, “it can be beneficial to the patient’s health.”   
A team interrupted, taking over N’golo’s fate. Shockingly, they didn’t move him. Quickly, they worked to assess Gretel’s work and, seeing it was satisfactory, they proceeded to explain. “We cannot delay the captain any longer. The destruction of the battlecruiser was a great victory, but we can’t allow the covenant to achieve any headway.”   
“Headway? They’ve lapped us three times over at this point!” Eric exclaimed  
“I understand your concern, but I find it impertinent to assume we cannot regain this lead,”  
“Impertinent or not, it’s ridiculous. N’golo’s halfway to heaven’s door, we’re hanging on by a thread, and you think we can help? What does the captain want exactly, that’s so important?”  
“We’re five tired ODST’s, not sodding Spartans,” Simon agreed. The medic sighed.   
“Go to the bridge, ask her yourself.”  
Eric flipped the medic off, then looked at the others. Swaying from exhaustion as he did so, he began to delegate. “Gretel, get N’golo to a bed. Simon, Dimitra, go to a bunk or something. Just get rest.”  
“What’s your plan, sarge?” Simon asked  
“I’m going to talk with the captain,”  
“That is something you cannot do alone,” Gretel started to panic, thoroughly aware of how such an altercation might end.   
“What I can and cannot do isn’t yours to decide, doctor. I’m going to talk to the captain, and ask what else she expects from us.” They all kept quiet and obeyed, despite their inner qualms.   
Eric pushed past the hangar crew. It had started to grow more active, the gentle hum of machinery replaced by a roar of departing vehicles and dismounting soldiers. Dimitra and Simon chose a corridor, far from where they had landed, and wandered the ship for a bunk. “N’golo’s going to die, isn’t he?” Dimitra muttered  
“No way! If anyone can save someone, it’s the doctor,”  
“She is a doctor, not a miracle worker, Simon.” Dimitra gripped the bridge of her nose, stopping.  
“You’ve never seen a bad wound before, have you? A really threatening one?” He looked at her, unsure of her point. “No, I haven’t. Nothing like…that.” He paused, as his mind flashed back. The ruined flesh littered with blood and gore. As he thought about it, he began to feel repulsed, almost buckling. “Precisely. You have no inclination of how serious this situation is.”  
“I know a strong guy when I see one! I knoe good work when I see it!”  
“That is irrelevant!” Her hands began to tremble as her mind raced back, and she tried to focus. Her flaring nostrils crossed her mind, and that was her focus point. She held onto it with tendrils of thought, and before long she was back in the room. “Did I ever tell you about my leg? How I lost it?”  
“No. I imagine you’re going to?” He came across as snappy, and immediately felt remorse. The mix of trauma, anguish and exhaustion was brewing a wicked concoction inside him. Regardless, Dimitra carried on as if she hadn’t heard him.   
“I was working in a chemical factory, and I loved it. All I wanted to do was succeed, and I found something I was truly, honestly good at. Then, one day, I made a mistake. You might call it a miscalculation.”  
“Dimitra…”  
“Let me finish. I was younger, arrogant. I thought I could perfect a dosage, and make it potent but stable. Only I didn’t,”  
“And it went up?”  
“Yes. Within seconds, anything I knew was replaced by searing agony. But through all of it, I felt regret and shame. In that moment, I knew I had ruined something.”  
“As the hours passed and the blaze subsided, I came to outside, in a rain of toxic chemicals. I tried to walk, crawl, anything. But I couldn’t, my balance was off. It was then I was told my leg was gone. I hardly got a glimpse of the stump before I passed out again.”  
“Jesus Christ. Dimitra, I…I’m sorry. But how does this relate to N’golo?”  
“It relates here. I woke, and the doctors told me I survived purely because of the cauterized wound. Otherwise, I would have bled to death. The burns faded, mostly, and my leg was replaced. But the brush with death has stayed with me, and even now, I know it won’t ever leave. So I ask of you this: if N’golo doesn’t bleed to death, will he be the same man we knew? Hm?”   
She let the question hang in the air. Simon, without thought nor reason, snatched her arm and started back down the path they had first tread. “What are you doing? Let go!”  
“We need to get to the bridge!”  
“Why on earth do we need to do that?”  
“Because we need to stop the sergeant doing something stupid!”  
The helm was buzzing with activity, people tapping on consoles, delivering pieces of paper and a healthy amount of noise kept it feeling well and truly alive. Jean waved Eric over, and he obliged. She noticed something seemed off. His was no longer the stance of the man she met at the outpost. The happy, respectful man seemed gone. Instead, an erratic wreck stood in his place. Seemingly, a wreck trying to hide it. Eric opened his mouth to speak, when two bedraggled soldiers, smeared in mud and blood and sand burst onto the bridge. Immediately, an armed guard raised his rifle. “Hands over your head and explain!”  
“Wait!” the taller, a man, spoke between his rising and falling chest. “We need to stop the sergeant doing something he’ll regret.”  
“Is that so?” Ball raised an eyebrow, recognised the pair as the recruits.   
“They’re a bit late for that, captain.” Eric stepped forward, blocking Simon and Dimitra from view. “I wanted to ask why you sent us down there, knowing what was going on? You had to know there were brutes, there were kill squads. You had to know the transmitters were compromised, and yet you didn’t tell us.”  
“Sergeant, I recommend you watch your tone. I ordered the mission because I was confident that it would be completed. You are an ODST, and you are mandated with difficult, risky missions.”  
“Risky doesn’t cut it. You know what happened down there? My squad got ruined. My second in command is out of action, maybe dead. My medic is trying to keep him alive, and is going mad over the civillains we maybe didn’t get out. And the kids…don’t get me started. I’ll be surprised if they don’t need a full psyche evaluation.”  
“Are you insinuating that your squad is unfit for duty, sergeant?”  
“Insinuating, is that we’re calling it now?”  
“I’m fine, by the way!” Simon cut in. Dimitra nodded to agree.  
“If that is the case, I will relieve you of command and assign you to another ODST team, alongside your medical officer.”  
“We both know we don’t have the man power for that. So, what do you plan to do?”  
“You really ought to watch your tone, sergeant. For your information, I intended to bring you here to congratulate you on your success. Not only did you complete the mission, but you did so by rescuing a large portion of civilians. Were it not for your current outburst, I would likely be putting you up for a commendation. Under these circumstances, I have chosen to allow you a day’s rest. After this, you will be given a new assignment. Understood?”  
“Yes captain.” Eric said venomously  
“Good. Now get off my bridge, before I change my mind.” Dimitra and Simon looked at each other incredulously. “Captain…”  
“Yes, privates?”  
“I-we,”  
“If you would like an explanation, say so.”  
“Yes, please.”  
“It is rather simple. As has been said, we are critically undermanned. However, aside from this, I understand that your squad is an excellent force and should be kept together, under sergeant Stevens’ command. In addition, I understand his stresses. For all his talk, the sergeant is loyal. I do not fear him, and in truth I pity him. I pity you all.”  
“Thank you, captain.”  
“Speak not of this. Dismissed.”  
The incredulous soldiers rushed to meet Eric, who seemed to ignore them completely. They pestered him, quietly at first, eventually bursting out, once more drawing the attention of everyone around. “Eric! Listen to me!”  
“Speak to me like that again, and”  
“And what? You’ll court martial us?” Simon cut in, smirking. “You said it yourself, we don’t have the men.”  
Eric was close to bursting at this point, but kept his mouth shut and his hands to himself. “Why are you acting like I’m the bad guy here? Did you not see what happened out there?”  
“Yeah, we did. We saw it, and we took it in our stride.” Simon said  
“N’golo did what he had to do. We all did, and that’s what you do in a war,” Dimitra agreed  
“What do you know about war?”  
“A damn sight more than most people!” Simon cried. “We are soldiers, you know. We’re not kids anymore, sir.” He adopted some appeasement, sensing Eric was holding in something more. “Kids or not, you might not make it. N’golo is the best man I’ve ever seen, and he’s taken a hit.”  
“I do not understand why you are becoming so irrational. N’golo is a soldier, as are we all. It is imperative we understand what we must sacrifice, and be willing to do so.”  
“You shouldn’t be willing. You should fight until you can’t anymore. You don’t sacrifice your life for nothing.”  
“Is that what this is about? Sarge, N’golo did do something. He took the fall and those people got out,”  
“But what does that do for me? I don’t know them! They aren’t my friends, they just…are. N’golo…I know him.”  
“So do we all! We can put aside how we feel, see what we gain from the greater good! That’s what he wanted. That’s what he taught me, and surely you can see that?” Dimitra insisted.   
Eric scowled, turning away and seething. What did they know about sacrifice? About loss? Naïve kids, thinking everything is a movie. People die, and it’s not always for something, why couldn’t they see that? It wasn’t right that it happened to N’golo. Why had he and Gretel been spared, but N’golo hadn’t?   
As the afternoon turned to dusk, they tried to scrape together some semblance of relaxation. The bunk that had been claimed earlier by Simon and Dimitra was now strewn with scrounged clothing.   
Searching for socks, the metal floor froze Simon’s feet. Regardless, he ignored it and flopped onto the lower bunk. He ran his hand over his freshly shaved chin, thinking. His mind drifted, to thoughts of home. His family. N’golo. Would he be ok? Would Eric be ok? He had hardly seemed sane earlier, and they hadn’t spoken since. The outburst seemed so out of character. Hadn’t it been Eric who insisted they help everyone they could? He would have to ask the doctor, try and figure out what was wrong.  
In the tiny bathroom, Dimitra climbed into the shower and turned it on. She felt safe, blasting herself with the powerful jets of water. Dirt and grime ran down into the drain. Blood followed. She shivered, not from the cold water. She was used to that by now. No, instead she shivered and trembled because of her thoughts. Now, alone as she was, she could no longer be concerned by thoughts of N’golo. By thoughts of the lives she had helped save. No…instead she turned to the events of the store. The massacre.  
She felt cold in her heart, blood running icy. Would this be another nightmare? Another day to relive endlessly, unable to do anything but observe, trying but failing to alter the past? Dimitra ran her hands through her hair, clenching her eyes shut. That didn’t help. Faces, faded and half formed, passed before her eyes. Images of agony and despair she could do nothing but see. The clattering of gunfire and silent moans of ruin permeated the trickle of water. A bottle fell, echoing massively in the confined shower. She leapt out of her skin, shaking like a leaf. “What was that?” Simon called from the bunk. She calmed herself, replying “A bottle fell, don’t worry about it.” More to herself than anything.  
Dimitra shivered again she dried herself. Brutal as it was, it was good. It meant she was still alive, she could still feel. Try as she might, she couldn’t ignore her grief, but it was better than what she had felt in days passed. Numbness more draining than anything. The pit in her stomach at least gave her fuel to act.  
Glancing down, she averted her eyes from the ordered rows of pale skin on her wrists, instead looking at the darker skin around it. She was toned now. The training had done that at least. Her leg clunked along the tiled floor as she left the room, tying her dripping hair back into a messy bun. Quickly, she dressed herself, brushing her hair and taking a single pill from the tub. Gretel had been right. It helped.  
Simon waved as Dimitra entered the room. “How are you feeling?” She asked  
“Same old. I should be asking you that, after everything that happened today.”  
“There’s never a dull moment, is there?” She chuckled, trying to dispel the darkness in her mind. “I’m bored,” she professed, scanning the walls for something. Simon frowned, thinking. “Let’s go for a walk, see who we can find.”   
“Sounds excellent! Let’s go.”  
The two of them chatted mindlessly about anything that came to mind. As pleasant as it was to have something to occupy themselves that didn’t involve holding a rifle, it felt wrong. Simon kept halting at the sound of footsteps, stopping at corners to check, and once or twice almost raised a hand to stop Dimitra. She tried to hide her own muscle memory, and did so slightly better.   
The room they ended up occupying was a large communal centre. People ate and drank in booths, shouting and laughing. The atmosphere pervaded a gentle, soft space. Safe. “You’re tensing up. Loosen up,” Dimitra finally said, seeing Simon’s hunched shoulders. He lowered them slightly, sighing. “I could have cried when we got this R and R.”  
“I could too. It’s no shame to wish for rest,”  
“That’s not it. I was desperate for rest, to have a chance to sleep safe and sound.”  
“But?”  
“But now I’m on leave, I want to be back out there. It’s not right, me hiding away in here while they’re out there, fighting and dying.”  
“You’ve done your share, Simon. We all did. Look at N’golo, look at any of us. Surely you do not value only physical wounds? They are vicious, but as are mental scars. Those take even longer to heal,” Dimitra’s voice lowered. “Well I know that.”  
“I don’t care. When I was out there, I was shaking because of the bullets. Because I was scared. Now? Now I’m shaking because I’m not scared, because there’s nothing there. I close my eyes and I see them all. People I’ve killed, people who almost killed me!”  
“Simon! I understand.” She tried to be kind, drawing on what she had seen from Gretel’s own actions. “I understand, more than anything. I won’t lie, you will always carry these wounds. But as with everything, this too shall fade.”  
“Maybe. For now, I can only do what I’m doing.”  
“Whatever you deem best,” Dimitra shrugged.   
From behind her, a sharp but kind Gretel cut in. “I will be the judge of what is best.” She looked at them both, saying softly “Come see me tomorrow, you two. Then we can talk.”   
“Thank you, doctor. Truly.”  
“It’s simply my job.”  
“Where’s sarge?”  
“Alone in the corner. Give him time, he is simply stressed. N’golo is improving, and I am certain he will be active in a few days, a week at worst.” They nodded and she left them, returning to her seat. As the night grew longer, people faded. The music fell silent and only five people remained. Dimitra and Eric soundlessly left, aiding each other to the bunk. Uneasily, they fell to sleep, haunting nightmares plaguing every moment.


	9. Torch and Burn

Alien roaring ripped Eric from his sleep. He cried out as spittle showered him, a large hand gripping his shirt and pulling him towards a drawn energy sword. The glistening plasma singed the hairs on his face, the sickening stench being overpowered by a rain of sticky, tar like blood. Eric fell back to the bed, looking up to see a kukri, an inch from his face. The blade poked out of the mouth of an elite that had almost executed him.   
The gurgling elite slid down to the floor, pristine sheets masking it like shroud. The spread of purple grew rapidly. His saviour, a Spartan, giant even for the super soldiers, had a purple stain running down his helmet and hands. Without a word, he stood up, leaving to scour the ship. Eric pinched himself, certain he was dreaming. Two more Spartans entered, checking the room for life. A round slammed into the dead elite, and a Spartan said loudly “Clear!” The other said derisively “Of course it’s clear! The lieutenant commander’s been here.” She put out a hand, helping Eric to his feet. “You hit, soldier?”  
“Negative, ma’am.” He wiped his face on his shirt as she spoke.  
“Get yourself geared and get to the pods. If you’re ODST, you’ve got a mission.”  
“Understood. Did you see which ODST’s made it?”  
“Only four, by my count. Don’t go looking for anyone.” She handed him an M6G. “Take this-keep your head down.” Turning to her companion, she asked “Where to next, 4?”  
“Back into the corridor, and follow 2’s trail?” The woman looked at the splats of blood along the floor “Good enough for me. Keep safe soldier.” And they were gone, leaving Eric alone.   
Eric’s mind raced, and he started breathing to slow his heart down. Where were the others? He encountered nothing on his way to the armoury, and a quick search of the barracks turned up nothing. Neither bodies nor blood. Eric donned his armour and tried to establish a radio connection. “This is Bravo Two One, does anyone read, over?” Silence. He tried again. Silence still. Checking the ammo in his pistol, he tried to orient himself, desperate to reach the pods. There was no way the frigate could be in good shape, if it was boarded.   
His feelings on their fate grew darker as he passed a window. Three wicked plasma barrages rushed past, smashing the falling pods from orbit. “Jesus,” Eric whispered. The passed over the wreck of a longsword, revealing a battlecruiser, ready to execute them. He backed away from the window, running blindly for the pods. Lights flickered, darkness grew and he felt sick. A crackle of static almost broke him, but he carried on forward.  
The bland corridors were suspiciously empty, yet in the distance, weapons rang out. Eric passed another window, shocked at what he saw. A full-scale assault was underway. The ship passed in and out of low orbit, face to face with the battlecruiser. On the ground, a battle was clearly well underway. It was impossible to tell what was going on, as the sides had merged into one amorphous mass of chaos and death. Eric once again tried to reach his squad. His radio buzzed. “Bravo Two One, this is Bravo Two Three. Rendezvous at the drop pods. We have an assignment, out.” The message was evidently pre-recorded. He sighed in relief. Simon was alive. Surely the others were too.  
Eric barged into the drop bay, seeing it almost empty. The long hallway, lined with pods on either side, was dimly lit by the weakening yellow light. “What the fuck went wrong?” Eric cried  
“We all got woke up by explosions. A claxon ordered us directly to the pods.” Simon said from inside a pod. “I see,” Eric nodded, picking up an assault rifle and strapping it into the pod. Just as he was climbing in, he stopped midway. His brain did a check, and he called out. “Who’s present?”  
“Simonides, checking in.”  
“Ewart, checking in.”  
“Koenig, checking in.”  
“Where’s N’golo?”  
“No idea!” Simon shouted, the sound of battle heating up outside. Eric turned to the door, seeing it cave inwards. The steel passed by him, missing a collison narrowly. Attached to it was what was left of a marine, his cracked ribs poking a crown in his chest. The image reminded him of his friend, and Eric pushed on. “I can’t leave him!” Nobody heard. Least of all him.  
The door being breached had left his ears ringing. That alone would deter a lesser man. The rushing covenant strike force almost broke Eric. But he kept strong, emptying his magazine as he moved forward. Then, a loose shot ruptured a pipe, and the bay erupted in an explosion.   
The hungry heat was silenced by screaming air, the very vacuum of space wrenching everything into the void. Shaking, pinned to the grated floor, Eric looked down at the empty space below him, debris trailing down into the silent abyss. The first pod on the far end of the room dropped, the others following suit, one by one, railing closer and closer. Even in his sealed suit, the shocking pressure change made breathing hard. Gretel was crying out silently from inside her pod, slamming her fists on the glass. Her pod was the last to go, slipping out of the ship silently. Eric was on the brink of slipping after, when he finally dragged his weight back into his own pod. With mammoth effort, he gripped the release, manually yanking the door shut moments before it dropped into space.  
His head snapped back as gravity was relinquished. A gasp left his lungs and he shuddered. He had beaten space. Proud as he was, it all faded as his motivation passed back through his brain.   
“Eric, are you alive?” Gretel’s voice sounded hoarse.   
“N’golo! He needs to get out!”   
“There’s nothing we can do, sir! Besides, he is in no position to be moved.”  
“The ship is gonna go down, and we’re debating if he’s safe to move? At least he’d have a chance!”  
“There’s nothing we can do!” Simon cried. He sounded broken.  
“We’re all here-” Gretel’s point was lost in static. The radio connection cut, and resumed moments later. “-ecure the frigate. Destroy it, and retreat back to our lines.”  
“Can you repeat that, Gretel?” Eric asked. His breathing was still ragged, and his nostrils flared with rage. He hid it, for his own benefit. Maybe N’golo wouldn’t end up dead.  
“Our objective is to destroy the remains of a downed frigate. Secure the area, and find a way to destroy the ship.”   
“Seems like an extreme step,” Simon said  
“Cole protocol. We seek to ensure as much information remains hidden from the covenant. That means destroying anything we cannot secure. This is standard procedure, and is currently in action across the planet. Scorched earth, wherever our lines are not.” Gretel said quietly.  
“I see.” Dimitra said. The thought of exterminating all the knowledge they held made her uncomfortable. She searched for a topic to distract herself. “We’re off course. Also, how are we going to detonate an entire frigate?”  
“I’d hoped you would have an idea there,” Gretel said  
“The fusion reactors aren’t going to be in good shape, so maybe start there?” Simon suggested. Dimitra ruffled her brow in thought. “A well-placed rocket or grenade ought to rupture them. Failing that, we can attempt to access the mainframe and destroy the reactor by way of overheating. But for that, we need to reach the bridge.” Dimitra summarized. Eric added his own thoughts. “I’d rather not go to the bridge. Splitting up sounds like a good way to get killed, and the less time we spend behind the enemy lines the better.” The pods rocked as the parachutes ejected, bringing them down into the sand.  
The heat from the pods had made the sand around the base glass. Shards of the steaming, shimmering substance littered the area around their pods. “More successful than last time,” Eric observed.  
“Indeed. Where to now?” Gretel asked  
“I don’t know, I thought you were the homing pigeon,” Eric replied  
“Sergeant, I can read maps in a city. N’golo would be the man to ask if one wishes to find his way around the wilderness,” Gretel insisted. Eric grew quiet, and she said “In his absence, I will try my best. Apparently, the frigate bisected a highway, and we seemed close to it as we fell. If we can reach the peak of this hill we will surely uncover our path.”  
It had been an hour’s march when they eventually reached the highway. “Here we go. Nice change of scenery” Eric said sarcastically.   
“What was this road for?” Dimitra asked  
“It was the main connecting road from Tarbeth to anywhere else on the planet. Stretches across it like a band. They even planned to build a bridge across the ocean,” Gretel explained. “You’re speaking in past tense. It might still happen.” Simon said softly, almost inaudible. A hard pause followed. “Well, we’re certainly not losing here.” Eric said. Hard as it was to forget their losses, the playing field was currently very level. The entire squad stopped in their tracks. Utterly silent, they processed the thought. It was such an impossible thought. To win against the covenant. If the Assault Carrier could be destroyed, they could overpower the battlecruisers through numbers alone. “Let’s not dwell on it, we need to keep moving.” Eric said decidedly. He unshouldered his rifle and moved to the front of the pack.  
Another hour passed and they reached the frigate, or what remained. The ship had been cleft in two, the highway running straight through the middle. An assortment of cables and a portion of the hull still connected the highest reaches of the ship, seemingly reaching with all their might to hold together the ruined corpse of the ship.   
Through ruinous gash through the heart of the vessel posed their entrance. They could see the sand on the other side. The warped hull, riddled with holes, resembled roadkill, a wasted shell. “Christ. The navy really took a hit,” Simon murmured. Dimitra asked “Do you suspect everyone evacuated?”   
“Most probably got out, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough,” Simon said. His voice betrayed his own worry at what they would find. Dimitra exhaled, hiding her shaking hands. More corpses. Wonderful.   
“What is our first port of call, sergeant?” Gretel asked, bringing back their focus. “I don’t know. Dimitra, what’s the best option? Should we search the bridge for overloads?” Eric asked, kneeling on the road.   
“Is that necessary? We could always manually activate the reactor,” Gretel suggested. Simon looked at her “Is there a difference? Bigger explosion, more reliable?”   
Dimitra shook her head slowly. “To be blunt, an explosion is an explosion. Whichever we chose would be sufficient”.   
“What about a way out? The hangar must be closer to the engine bay than the bridge?” “If I recall the schematics correctly, I actually believe the distance to be almost equal. Of course, I could be incorrect.” Gretel added. Eric waved a hand to silence them all.   
“Since you’re eager, and you know the way, Gretel and Simon secure the hangar and set up our evacuation. I’ll take the bridge, Dimitra prep a bomb and reach the engines.”   
“Isn’t it a little overkill? Going for them both?”  
“Maybe. If the ship is too hot, we just blow the engines and go. But preferably, if we can reach the bridge, we might secure some remaining intelligence.”  
“It’s decided then.” Gretel stated. They walked into the shadow of the belly of the beast. Simon shivered, whether from the cool of the shade, or something else, he was unsure.   
The trail of footsteps stretched from the highway to the frigate. “They seem so strong in the sky,” Dimitra said.  
“Looks like papier mache now,” Simon added  
“No more than a shell,” Dimitra said ruefully  
“Stay focused. We’ll have the time to be all melancholy after we’ve killed every split lipped, methane sucking alien on this planet,” Eric snapped. His bloodshot eyes scanned the ragged tips of the various floors and structures for a stable entryway. “Anyone see a path up?”   
“Near the far edge. A maintenance ladder, from the looks of it,” Simon scoured the interior with his rifle scope. “Yeah, that’ll work.” Eric agreed, handing Simon the rifle back. “Move up on me.” They quickly covered the ground and vaulted up the wall into the gaping hangar.   
Sand had poured into the grooved floor, which once upon a time had been polished like a mirror. Now, the grubby surface was deserted and rough. The steel crunched and creaked under their boots, echoing in the empty hangar. “This bodes ill,” Gretel murmured softly “Let us not tarry.”  
“I agree. Simon, Gretel, get to work on that pelican. Dimitra, we’re going for the engines.”   
Eric guided her through the gloom with his VISR. Dimitra activated the torch mounted on her SMG. She dragged the bright white glow over the walls, scouring the surfaces for any threat. Panels were drooping from the roof, wrapped up tightly in steel cables and electrical wires. To pass one particularly ruined hallway they had to duck under the strands of the ship’s circulatory system. It was like being in a cadaver. The hallways were the limbs, the wires blood vessels. The brain the bridge, the legs the engines. She twitched nervously in the oppressive silence. For a brief second, she imagined herself an insect.   
In the end, the corridor diverged into four separate pathways. “Corporal, I’m pretty certain the ship is clear. It’s scary as shit, and makes my skin crawl, but it’s clear.”   
Dimitra shuddered, painfully aware of what the next statement would be.   
“Time for us to part ways.”  
“Are you certain this is a wise decision sergeant?”  
“If the covenant were here we’d be dead already.” Eric didn’t wait for a reply before he walked down his hallway. Dimitra watched him go, fearful of the dark. Not even as a child had she feared anything as much as that inky black. But she marched down it still.  
His haste hadn’t eased Eric’s choice to walk away. For as much as he told himself he was capable, he wasn’t sure he could do this. Rancid thoughts pervaded his mind, instilling doubt. Could he ever hope to survive this ruined ship? How long before the war claimed him? Already, Danny had succumbed. He hadn’t been the first, he would not be the last. N’golo was possibly the next, and the thought of losing another friend sickened Eric to the stomach. Over and over the thoughts rolled through his head. He almost didn’t hear the shouts. “Help!” The cries were strained. “Help us!”   
Eric clicked his brain back from the brink, focusing on the sound. “Where are you? Keep talking, I’m coming to you!” Yes, speak. Keep talking, he thought. Don’t leave me alone with my thoughts, that I can’t bear. It pained him to admit that this new issue soothed him, allowing him an outlet for all the fear he had pent up. Now he could be a protector again, save someone. Protect them where he couldn’t protect himself from his thoughts, try as he might.   
“Sergeant?” Gretel asked through the radio.  
“Yes?”  
“We’ve found some soldiers.”  
“You found them? I heard the voices, but I didn’t find anyone.”  
“Yes, we have them here. But sergeant, they’re…trapped.” Gretel paused, composing herself. “What shall we do?” Her voice was slick with worry. Eric felt her empathy worm its way into his brain, but he couldn’t let compassion get in the way of the mission. At first, he avoided the question. “Understood. Have you got us a ship?”  
“Yes, we managed to acquire a pelican.” Gretel sounded afraid, and Eric knew she wanted to help the people, no matter the cost. “Simon is siphoning fuel now”  
“Understood. Get that ship ready, then try your best to get our new friends out.”   
Gretel sounded relieved, sighing. “Gretel, we won’t leave people behind.”   
The radio connection died, along with the light. Into the empty bridge. Darkness had consumed most of the surrounding scenery. A layer of yellow sand, mixed with grey dust and suspicious brown stains masked everything. It marked Eric’s passage with half inch-deep footsteps. Angled shadows sharp enough to slice skin shrouded Eric, his VISR blinding him when he passed into the view of the sun.   
When the glare faded and he blinked away the shock, he depolarized his visor and set a look of grim resignation on his face. He was torn. The beauty of the orange sun dipping below the far-off hills, casting long shadows over the salt flat was poetic, but it was marred by the sight of seared, decomposing corpses. Dripping maggots crawled into the empty eye sockets, the skin almost wriggling. The pained expressions of fear and terror revealed they died in great pain. Burning up on re-entry…I hope some of you had it quick. Eric felt his insides churning like the maggots he had seen. He needed to hurry. A body was slumped across the console he needed. With as much respect as he could muster, Eric pulled the rotting sack of flesh onto the floor with a sound that made him cringe.   
He peeled some dried blood from a button and felt the flakes fall away like paint. “Charming,” A voice said behind him. He wheeled round and drew his pistol, holding it steady in both hands. “Who said that?”   
“I did,” the voice replied. It came from a large cylinder, a holotank. What he had presumed was a button now projected a violet man draped in a toga. “Holster your weapon, sergeant Stevens. It cannot harm me, and we have a job to do.” Eric put the pistol in its holster and folded his arms. Before he could question the AI, it carried on speaking. “If you would be so kind as to explain why you are on my ship, I would most appreciate it.”  
“Your ship went down, we were sent on a torch and burn.”   
“I see. How did you plan to do so? Form your presence on the bridge, you likely planned to program the fusion reactors for a remote detonation?”  
“Good guess. Either that, or use grenades to do it manually. Since you’re here, I also need to retrieve you, but I have nothing to do it with.” Eric looked around for a storage device. “That won’t be necessary. Your lance corporal has a pelican I can remotely install myself into. You should evacuate back to the hangar bay, I will join you when I have overseen the preparations.”  
‘Right. Keep me posted on any changes.” Eric picked his rifle back up and headed out of the door. The only noise came from his feet as he returned into the darkness of the blasted corridor.  
Dimitra flinched as her helmet radio came to life. “Corporal Simonides, you need not concern yourself with the destruction of the fusion reactors. I can deal with the process remotely. I would recommend you return to the hangar bay, and assist your fellow ODST’s in evacuation.” She sighed in disappointment, having finally reached the engine room, only to turn back. The long dark awaited her again.  
Leaving was a hassle, as it was the largest room in the ship. She navigated the narrow hallways leading to three catwalks, which were pocked with numerous holes in their wiry mesh. These catwalks marked the three floors, and climbing the stairways had exhausted Dimitra. To be told to return down had boiled her blood. Four scorched black vents lead to the fusion reactors. Heated white steam billowed softly out of the vents, rising to the roof, which was masked in a shroud of smoke. Dimitra halted as she left the stairwell. Back on ground level, a skittish noise had drawn her attention. Scraping metal near the door, and the dim red light emanating from above the frame told her the door had locked. She swore softly, looking back at the stairs.   
A red bulb stained her in light. A flurry of fluorescent royal blue plasma flew into the previously blackened wall, scattering molten steel onto the floor and Dimitra’s boot. The leather let off a sickening scent and oily black smoke. She gasped in pain as the boot welded to her skin. Forcing her agony aside, she managed to dash back into the relative gloom, lighting up the catwalk with her SMG. With the ramp clear, she looked back the way she had come. Three grunts waddled after her, and she ripped off more rounds in their direction. She backpedalled furiously until she felt herself stumble at the beginning of the incline.   
She pushed forward, disregarding her pain for the sake of continued survival. Glancing up, a grunt was there to meet her. A plasma grenade exploded behind her, shaking the ruined stairway. The grunt plunged down the shaft to the floor. Dimitra looked down at it, grimacing at the milky blue stain it left behind. I need to get to higher ground.  
Eric had rendezvoused with the others and saw what the commotion had been. In the lower rung of a vehicle bay, where the floor should have been, a gaping chasm had replaced it. Inside the cavern, a warthog pinned a soldier. The other shifted aside crates and debris, trying not to disturb the remains. A ribbed silver pipe had severed above the hangar, dripping coolant down into the hole. It was filling up ever so slowly. “Sir,” Simon saluted “What’s your call?”   
“This is out of my control, sergeant.” The AI spoke gently. “The systems sustained severe damage during the destruction and I cannot shut off the valves. This pipe will continue to flow,” the AI admitted sourly. Eric grew pale. The lives of these two women were on his shoulders. “We either plug the pipe, or get them out.” Simon and Gretel listened intently. “We need some light,” Gretel said. The AI obliged, running power to the racks of flickering lights above them. Meagre yellow light cast long shadows across the room. Through his visor, Eric’s shadowed face was white as bone.  
The roof was a tangled mess of curled wires, bent pipes and sagging supports. Light streamed through the grated floor of the next room up. “How is there sunlight up there?” Simon asked.   
“Structural damage. The hull has been opened in many areas, thus natural light is sparse, but available.”  
“What’s up there? Can we make it, fix the pipe?” Eric asked  
“Unlikely. Judging from the structural integrity of the rest of the ship, I find the likelihood of the upper floor supporting your weight unlikely. Any violent action would inevitably shatter the grating.”   
“Blocking the flow is a no-go,” Eric sighed  
“So we have to get them out, before it fills.” Gretel finished his train of thought.   
“Don’t leave us!” one cried. The other was barely audible, her voice ragged and hoarse from screaming “Save her, not me!”. Eric felt the hairs on the nape of his neck rise. It wasn’t going to be easy. “We won’t leave either of you,” he was about to promise, but he paused to stare at the rising level of freezing liquid as Dimitra’s voice poked into his ear.  
The elite at her right tumbled into the abyss three storeys down, firing to the bitter end. A stray bullet smashed the pipe nearest the engine cover. The ruptured tube spewed a torrent of blue gas, sparking in the turmoil. It detonated in a fiery inferno that snatched at Dimitra’s heels.   
She dashed forward, the rapidly melting catwalk dissolving behind her. “SHIT!” She cried. Those were the first words Eric heard. The rest was an angry torrent of Greek expletives. At least, her tone told him they were foul.  
The catwalk shuddered and tore in half, plunging much of the covenant force on it to their doom. “Sir! We have a severe disruption of the engine number two!” She tried to explain, but her footing failed, and she slid down the catwalk. Her SMG slipped from her grip, and she clung to the grating for her life. The air left her lungs as she crushed her chest against the metal. Pumping her arms, Dimitra clambered up to the stable sections. As the far fusion reactor burned, she scrambled back from the edge as the heat rushed to meet her.  
A rumble passed through the hangar, shaking loose dust and sparks. “What was that?” One of the pinned women asked fearfully. Eric waved to her, trying to quiet her. “Violet, what just happened?” He asked the AI.   
“Taking into account your corporal’s message and the sudden explosions along the dorsal hull…I assume one of the fusion reactors has begun to explode.”   
“It what?” Gretel cried, wincing as she heard a rending cry and the roof started to tumble. It was sudden at first, dropping faster than they could react to, then it stopped.  
The grating above them snagged on exposed beams and wiring. It had fallen another ten feet, hanging at a terrifying height above them. The pipe was gushing now, and the soldiers were knee deep in coolant already. “No, no no no. Help us, get us out!” One of the women cried. The other pawed weakly at the sky to pull herself out. Gretel rushed to the edge and peered over. “We’ll get you out!” she shouted, yet Eric grasped her by the waist and dragged her away. “We have to go,” he said quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the fiery explosions all around. With one last glance, he saw the centre of the roof finally cave in with a cacophonous crash. It was like a tent with a brick tossed on top. The rubble threw up sandy dust, hiding the sight of the cavern filling with debris. He could hear the petrified screams reverberate in his skull. Two more he would never forget.   
Another rumble roused him into action, and he took the pair’s hands. Gretel struggled, pushing against his grip. “We must go back! We must save them!”  
“If we go back, the roof will collapse completely and kill us all!” Eric roared. Gretel’s mouth fell open, and she shook with fear.   
It was still agape with shock when they passed the threshold of the main hangar bay. Eric tapped on Gretel’s visor to snap her from her trance. Immediately, her pupils dilated to pin pricks and she focused, a bloodhound with a scent. The smaller hangar they had passed into lit up with plasma fire, and Simon was covering their huddle. “Gretel! We have a covenant army between us and the pelican, not to mention the exploding reactors! We are leaving!” He ducked behind a waist high box of munitions. Streaks of steaming plasma streamed to his skull, screeching into the slats of metal to his rear. “Fucking hell! We can’t stay here, push forward!” Eric rolled out to the left, firing when he came to a rest. Simon pushed the right side and Gretel went through the middle.   
The continued hum of their weapons was like an orchestra backed by the cry of plasma blasts and the bass rumble of the overheating engines. A burst of growling orange flames licked at the wall two feet behind where Gretel had been stood. Simon shot a glance to her. He panicked for a moment, terrified she had been hurt. Gretel emerged swiftly from the chaotic mass with only a still glowing, singed breastplate to show for it. Eric smashed his helmeted head into the soft, fleshy head of a grunt. Its plastic face mask split in twain and jammed into its eyes, spewing milky blue blood over its screaming face. Rivulets dribbled across Eric’s visor and he swept them aside with his forearm. “Get in the pelican!” He ordered, pulling Simon by his shoulder.   
Gretel crawled up the ramp, trailing blood from a leg wound. Eric knelt beside her and looked around the madness. Disordered ranks of grunts and jackals cackled to each other, dodging falling plates and explosions. “How do you fly this thing?” Simon shouted from the cockpit. “Where is Dimitra?” Eric roared back. He drew down the heavy machine gun in the troop bay, tracking high calibre rounds across the packed hangar. “No idea! We need to go!”  
“Not without her!”  
“We wait any longer, we die! If we don’t get shot to death, the engines can’t last much longer!”  
“He is correct,” The AI cut in  
“Shut it! Try and locate Dimitra’s signal!” Eric replied. Gretel moaned something that sounded like an agreement, but the dribbling blood from the corner of her mouth made it intelligible.   
The gunfire from the pelican ripped through a support, and the rear section of ceiling collapsed, crushing a portion of the covenant force. “Sergeant, I have located your corporal. She is still in the engine room.”  
“Fuck! Try and get her signal, I need her here!”  
“Understood. I must warn you, it is 99% impossible she will reach this vehicle before the engines engulf us.”  
“I don’t want to hear it!”  
“Are you certain?”  
“Yes!”  
“Sergeant?” Dimitra said, her voice full of terror  
“Yes?”  
“You must leave! We will never escape this ship alive!”  
Dimitra’s voice, and Eric’s reply, were drowned out by the roar of the engines. Eric was tugged back into the pelican by a shockwave, explosions beginning all around the hangar. Gretel gurgled from her seat, reaching out to Eric. He pushed past her, seeking Simon. A poorly aimed punch smashed into his jaw, and both fell down as the pelican rocked. Gretel struggled, trying to break up the fight, but her strength failed.   
A mechanical gear closed the rear bay door, droplets of coolant dripping down the dirty, pocked glass. A support strut narrowly missed the pelican and they rocketed from the hangar, torching the troop of elites hammering on the door. “Jesus, sarge! What the fuck?” Simon cried, trying to restrain Eric. The older man was quickly overpowered by the younger soldier, who pinned him down. “What the hell are you doing?”  
“I could ask the same thing of you! What were you thinking? Abandoning Dimitra like that?”  
“It wasn’t me! I couldn’t fly this ship!”  
“Then who-”  
“It was I.” The AI admitted. “If we had remained, everyone in this craft would have perished. I am designated to protect humans, and your reckless actions would have cost you dearly, sergeant.”  
“Listen here, you purple piece of shit! I’m the commanding officer here, and I call the shots!”  
“Is that so? Then perhaps you should be relieved of duty!”  
“It’s a good thing you’re not physical, because you’d be fucking dead.”   
“Understand, I do not wish to offend. I wish to be unbiased and truthful. You should be relieved of duty for the same reason sergeant Arendse is unviable for command. You are emotional and temperamental. Your desire to protect friends endangers your team.”  
“You’re telling me I care too much to be a leader?”  
“Not exactly, but-”  
“Shut it! Both of you!” Simon spat. He massaged the sickly brown bruise emerging on his jaw. “Do we know she’s dead?”   
“Of course we fucking do!” Eric snapped  
‘Don’t fucking snap at me!” Simon said, his voice like a knife. “It’s not my fault, so don’t act like it! The ship hasn’t gone up in flames yet, and there’s a million ways she could have gotten out.”   
“A connection could still be established,” the AI admitted.   
Eric rushed to the cockpit, casting a signal for any sign of Dimitra, waiting for the radio to connect. “Dimitra! Are you there?” He looked back from the tiny view glass. The ship was still there. Burning, but still there. “Bravo Two Four, do you copy? Simonides?” The ship burned more ferociously. “Corporal?” An explosion bulged. “Corporal Simonides, are you there? The reactors are going! Repeat, the reactors are going! If you’re out, respond!” Nothing. The ship crumbled.  
A flash.   
No thunder, no rumble. A flash, flames so hot they knocked the sound from the sky. Eric pounded a hand against the glass. And sank to the floor.


	10. Safeguard: Contingency

It was a silent trip. The ringing in their ears soon faded, but the wounds remained. Eric didn’t raise his eyes for the entire trip. His heart felt heavy, as if it were dead, but he hadn’t been granted such a luxury. He racked with a dry sob. In the cockpit, out of view, Simon paced.   
Gretel, who had recovered consciousness, if not capability, was stunned into silence, trying to comprehend what had occurred. “Speak again, slowly.” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to focus. “The ship went tits up. The reactor was going critical, and there was nothing we could do. We waited as long as we could, but the AI got us rolling. With me do far?” Simon asked, placing an arm on her shoulder. Gretel nodded, flinching in pain. “The AI used logic to dictate the survival of the craft and its occupants was more critical than a single ‘doomed’ soldier. Correct?”  
“That’s about the gist of it, yeah.” He rubbed his jaw again. “Just don’t let Eric hear you say that.”  
“Yes, I forgot about that detail. Please, continue.” She shuffled to grow more comfortable. Her confusion was amplified by blood loss, exhaustion, and the pounding headache. She suspected she had a concussion, but chose not to worry Simon.  
“When the ship took off, Eric charged over and smacked me right in the jaw. I had to get him to ground, and we explained what had happened.” Simon looked down drearily. He felt rotten inside, like something was missing. He supposed something was. Nonetheless, he didn’t speak anymore on the subject, and Gretel noticed his sudden silence. She let the air remain still for a while, before asking gently “There’s something else, is there not?”  
“No. There’s nothing.”   
Another moment of silence.   
“Yes, there is, Simon. Now speak, else I will be forced to prize it from you.” Her ferocity, good natured as it was, scared him. He shuddered, suddenly scared of this woman with maybe half a pint of blood left in her. “I-I just don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.”  
“What doesn’t?”  
“How Eric reacted. He’s sad. I get that, we all are. People get said when people die. But why the bloody hell is he so upset? Why does he act like he fucking cares? He never did before! Not about me, not about her, neither of us! Oh, but you, N’golo, he would die for you two! But not her.”  
“Did you ever consider he did care?”  
“He didn’t. He was a miserable bastard with me, and her. I know what he was trying to do, tough love and all that shit. But I got enough of that in basic, and I didn’t need another thing trying to kill me in the field.”  
“That proves he cared, Simon. You never understood, did you?”  
“What was there to understand? He’s a prick.”  
“You need to understand that Eric has been fighting this was for a long time. A very long time. During that time, he has seen countless soldiers die, many under his command. Do you understand what that means, Simon? To have someone you know, who trusts you, be ripped from you in an instant, because of your tactical mistake? It breaks you down, piece by piece. Eric…could never recover.”  
“That still doesn’t explain why he’s so up in arms about it!”  
“Because Dimitra was eighteen, Simon! My niece is reaching twenty, and I remember the day she was born like it was yesterday! Maybe you’re too young to get an idea of the scale of it, but she had a life to live.” Gretel paused. Her mind went to Dimitra’s scarred arms. She had a life to live. Even if she never wanted it. “She never should have been involved, and I hate that we never stopped her. That I never stopped her.” It was Gretel’s turn to break now. Thoughts of her family, her sister, slipped to mind, and she gripped her head in pain. In a hushed whisper, hardly audible, Simon asked “What? What did you say?”  
“I shouldn’t have said that.”  
“Said what? Gretel…why should Dimitra never have been involved?”  
“It’s not my place to say, Simon. I never should have…I’m a fool…”  
“Gretel, I have to know!”  
“No, you don’t,” she hissed. Simon backed away in fear, leaving her alone in the cockpit.   
He emerged into the troop bay, to be met by the shell of Eric. Gruffly, he asked “What’s the matter? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”   
“Maybe I have.” Simon muttered.  
The plains of Fentar were rolled out beneath them. A dead, empty flat of yellow sand. Orange towers of stone pocked the otherwise smooth surface, and Gretel sighed.   
Pain had eluded her up until now. Shock had masked it at first, painkillers after. It was only the pain in her heart, unravelled by thoughts of Dimitra, that made her aware of the agony in her limbs. The door slid open, and Eric slipped inside. “Where are we going, glowstick?”  
“It’s Tiberius, sergeant. And since you asked, I set a course for the military installation at the head of King’s Redoubt valley.”  
“Why there?”  
“It is the nearest stronghold with sufficient equipment to care for corporal Koenig.”  
“I see. Get us there quick, she doesn’t look good.”  
“I am here, you know?”  
“I know. But keep quiet and save your strength.”  
“Are you educating your resident medical officer on simple first aid, sergeant?”  
“Gretel…” he said, with a strange tone to his voice. She tilted her head, trying to deduce his meaning. Before she could decide, he shook his head and left for the troop bay again.   
When it touched down, the pelican arrived into the aftermath of sheer turmoil. The cargo bay door dropped open, the flurry of sand scattered by the engines masking their view. With Simon under her shoulder, Gretel hobbled down the ramp. Eric rushed out, searching for answers. He had only just noticed the burning rubble and plasma scoring when a marine rushed to greet him. “Trooper! What the hell happened here?” Eric asked.   
“We got fucked,” the bruised marine said. “Covenant sent out a scouting party, testing our defences. It wouldn’t have been an issue, until fucking Insurrection turned up. We held them both off, but a whole load got away.”  
Horror dawned on Eric when he heard this. Escaped covenant bode ill for their fate. He took once glance around the base, and saw they had little chance of holding against an attack. The wide valley was capped by a huge wall, facing the plains. Atop it, turrets and gun nests dotted every available surface, but the issue came from the men needed to man such devices. “What are our numbers looking like?” Simon asked  
“I…don’t know. We had about fifteen hundred able soldiers. After this? I don’t know. Half that? At best? Not to mention the wounded.” The soldier shrugged. Simon sighed, and shifted Gretel’s weight. Eric moved over to him. “What do you mean ‘our’ numbers?”  
“We’re a part of this now, too.”  
“Says who?”  
“Says me? Sarge, we’ve got to help these people.”  
“You really think three ODST’s will help these people?”  
“More men can’t hurt, can they?”  
“Who said you can call the shots, anyhow?”  
“It’s a no brainer, isn’t it? We can’t leave people who need our help.”  
“Are you forgetting Gretel? She needs medical attention!” As Simon said this, a stretcher arrived to carry her away. “Hold the phone,” Eric raised a hand. “We can’t have her be operated on in a warzone. She needs to get out of here.”  
“And the other wounded?” one of the soldiers carrying the stretcher cut in. Eric glared at her, and the AI came to settle the argument. “Corporal Koenig has suffered heavy blood loss and will expire if she does not receive immediate medical attention.”  
“Fucking hell.” Eric relented, falling away from the stretcher. He paused, trying to calm himself down. “Where’s the CO? I need to talk to him.”  
“Right this way.”  
The commander was bedded in the infirmary, a bloody rag tied around his head and a poorly made tourniquet on his leg. “Who are you?” his one good eye passed over Eric and Simon. “We’re your backup.”  
The CO chuckled bitterly. “Son, when I asked for backup, I was expecting a Spartan. Failing that, a spare battalion.”  
“Well we’re the best you’ve got.”  
“Ha! Humour me, why are you here, uh,”  
“Sergeant Stevens. Eric Stevens.”  
“Stevens. Well, explain to me why you are here.”  
“I want control of the defence.”  
“You want what?”  
“You heard me. You’re in no shape to command the base, and word around here is that a covenant army is on its way to fuck us all into the next life.”  
“Huh. Be that as it may, why do you, of all people, deserve this position?”  
“For starters, I’m a helljumper. If that’s not enough, I’m fresher than anyone here, and I’m not miserably fucking depressed, either.”  
“If you’re insulting my men’s willingness to fight-”  
“I’m not insulting it, I’m doubting it’s there. Your boys are lower on morale than water. Speaking off, supplies are looking low, too.”  
“Alright! You’ve made your point. If I were to grant your request, what would your plan of action be?”  
“An evacuation.”  
“You think we haven’t tried?”  
“Not with a pelican, you haven’t.”  
“You’ve a ship?”  
“Yes. And an AI to help coordinate everything.”  
“You’re being more persuasive every minute…but no. We can’t evacuate.”  
It was Simon’s turn to speak. “Why not? I’ve seen the looks on these boys’ faces. They’d sooner shoot themselves than the enemy.”  
“We can’t evacuate because our orders were to hold this base. Admiral Ball personally ordered this, and I’ll be damned before I let her down.”  
“But why! What does this base have that any other doesn’t? Plus, if we’re so undermanned anyway, any casualties spent holding this place can’t be worth it!” Simon reasoned.  
“This base was built to secure the valley. Not just to keep people out, but to keep whatever the scientists found here in. those ruins, all over the planet? Some had maps. You get three guesses where they all pointed.”  
“Alright, fine. If the base is so important, we stay. But at least let me coordinate a proper defence.”  
“Fine. Granted. Use whatever you want, but this base has to hold.”  
“Thank you. I’ll get to work right away.”  
The pair paused to see Gretel on their way to the ops centre. She was conscious and, seemingly, stable. “I suffered heavy blood loss, but my wounds were mostly skin deep. I’m awaiting a second transfusion, and then I should be back to fighting condition.”  
“Good. As soon as you’re able, come find me.” Eric and Simon left her, seeking suitable locations to plan their next move.   
The ops centre was, as suspected, inside the wall. It took them ten minutes to make the climb, and the hollow wall was buzzing with activity as they entered. The reinforced glass of the ops centre gave a view down into the valley, which revealed the base and the poor state it was in. Looking to the north, as opposed to south, bared instead the flat waste of Fentar. Eric’s eyes glazed over, and he imagined how it must have looked mere hours ago. Rubble littered the approach, already buried under sand, stirred by rising wind. “There’s a storm brewing,” a soldier remarked.   
Eric pored over the planning table, a small gathering of coordinators all around. They had been informed of Eric’s promotion and purpose, and listened to him with surprising obedience. “What did the last attack look like?”  
“It was a weird one. Small groups of ghosts rushed our defences, and the ground forces came up back. Not weird in and of itself, but the fact the groups acted like they were attacking multiple targets, not just our wall. Not to mention, they had no air support.”  
“They didn’t want to waste it. They were testing how well you could handle multiple targets. They saw AA and decided against anything else. I imagine they’d have run home if insurrectionists hadn’t joined in.”  
“I agree. So, what do we next?”  
“How many turrets are on the wall?”  
“Forty-five-point defence, ten heavy artillery. And five ground-to-ground missiles.”  
“How many can we get manned and loaded?”  
“All of them. It’ll just take time.”  
“Get it done. Focus on the AA. If they get phantoms in close, and they get behind us? We’re toast.”  
“The wall is our best bet to hold the valley, and if it falls? We’ll have a done deal.” Eric spent another hour planning out everything. After that, he went down into the base, looking at supplies, armour, explosives, anything they could use to hold the line. “If we can keep them getting close to the wall, and take down any vehicles? Our job gets a whole lot easier.”  
Every suggestion Eric had was welcomed by all. Every one, until he reached the brig.


	11. The Gambit

“Absolutely not.”  
“I refuse!”  
“Hear me out!” Eric cried. “We have seven hundred able men and two hundred wounded. If we factor in the captured insurrectionists, those numbers go up to a thousand and three hundred respectively. It’s a crime if we keep them here.”  
“I’ll tell you what’s a crime! Letting those cold-blooded bastards go! They killed our friends!”  
“They’ll stab us in the back as soon as we give them chance!”  
“Will they? If we explain that the covenant is on our doorstep, I think they’ll take freedom over extinction.”  
“Like hell they will! You don’t know the Il Donni like I do!”  
Hearing this, Eric fell silent. His mind went to N’golo, and he felt shame. “I know them better than most.”  
He left them there, entering a small hut, filled with ammo. Eric was packing some away, when Simon followed him in. “What does it mean? Il Donni?”  
“They’re a hate group. Insurrectionists who think we betrayed humanity when we let more than just whites have rights. They’ve had different names throughout history, fallen apart at times, but they always rear their ugly heads.”  
“You’re proposing we let out racist rebels to fight with us?” Simon’s lip curled. “I see why they were so angry now.”  
“But you don’t see, do you? None of you see the bigger picture!” Eric exclaimed. “You think this is easy? That I enjoy letting them go? No! But I see the bigger picture. I see that we need to hold this base. Not because orders told us to. Forget the orders, I’m thinking of Gretel. Until she’s ready to move, this base won’t be breached. And if I have to let these bastards loose to do that? Then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be damned before I let this place fall, if I could have helped it.”  
“But they won’t help us!”  
“Have you ever seen a glassing, boy?”  
“No?” Simon paused, knocked by this sudden change of subject.  
“I didn’t think so. Let me speak from experience for a minute; a glassing changes you. Priorities shift when the air’s boiling around you. Friends, enemies…in that moment, it’s all so many words. Your priorities shift, and you treat foes as friends. Because it’s the only way to survive.”  
“I don’t know why I’m arguing. You’re the boss, it’s your choice. I just hope you’re as correct as you are passionate.”  
“This will work, Simon. I know it will.” It has to. Eric returned to stacking, considering how his life had reached this point. That made him more miserable than ever, so he tried to be positive. At least three of his team were alive. Gretel was hanging on by a thread, but she’d be better. He hoped. It might make Dimitra’s death mean something.   
It had to mean something, didn’t it? Yes. It did. If he’d lost the girl, and nothing came of it, he’d never sleep again. Not that he did anyway.

Hours Earlier

Dimitra tumbled to the floor, scrambling for her gun. She threw out her arm in a final, desperate attempt to retrieve her only semblance of defence in the hellscape her world had become. It failed. The weapon, tiny compared to the scale of the room, and the height of the fall, disappeared into the rising smoke.   
Dimitra’s head sank, and she started to sob. Sounds faded, meshing into a single mass of deafening cacophony. It was only a single word that roused her.  
“Dimitra.”  
N’golo was on the other side of the gap. Dimitra, sprawled on the edge of a shattered catwalk, was barely three five metres from him. He held out an arm, crying out her name. A chain of explosions rocked the room and he almost slipped. Cables were starting to spark and a pipe dropped, hissing blue flame at his side. He fanned the embers on his side, extinguishing the flames. “Dimitra!” He repeated, finally getting her attention.  
She glanced up, afraid to have hope. She thought she was dreaming. There he was, raving like a lunatic. “Get up and move, before this place falls apart around us!”   
“N’golo? What are you-”  
“I don’t have time to explain, just jump!”  
“Right, ok. Jump. I can do that…” As she neared the edge, she trembled with fear. Or maybe it was the growing rumble deep in the ship. Either way, she backed from the edge.  
“I can’t do it,” she whispered. N’golo slapped his head in frustration saying, as calmly as he could, “I’ll catch you. I promise.” She nodded, trying to calm down. Peering over the edge, she backed away, masking it as a run up. She couldn’t believe her mind was on looking scared, when a thermonuclear explosion was about to go off.   
That was the thought that roused her to action. Dashing forward, pumping her legs and kicking off, one blistered foot in front of the other, she flew through the air. Reaching out, feeling a strange elation at the insanity of it all.   
The air felt heavy, hard to move through. Like soup. It was hot too. She could feel sweat drip from her pores. Dirt rained from above like hailstones, slamming into her shoulders and head, pushing her further down.   
It dawned on her she’d missed her mark. Her fingers brushed the air, and she passed down into the inferno.   
Or would have, had a single gloved hand not snatched her wrist. N’golo heaved her from the brink, dragging her bodily over the threshold to safety. His body ached from the stress, and he burned with emotion terror. “Up, go!” He pulled her to her feet, pushing her forward as she stumbled along. Having hardly had time to recover from her horrific experience, Dimitra did as she was told, unable to process much in the moment.  
They exited the engine room, passing a collapsed hallway and arriving at a heavily damaged elevator. Sparks and fire were blocking much of the exit. “Alright. I took this lift down from the top of the hull. I heard Eric on the radio, talking about the pelican. They’ll whip round and pick us up!”   
“That death trap? No. No no no.” Dimitra shook her head fiercely.   
“It’s safe!” Just as he was about to step on it, a deafening twang erupted from the shaft, and the elevator slid down the shaft, a whipping steel cable following. “Sweet Jesus!” N’golo flinched back. “Never fucking mind, then!”  
He was thinking of a new escape, when Dimitra rushed past. She leapt across the seemingly endless shaft, reaching out her body, her arm, her fingertips, the very atoms in her body; to grasp the rung of the ladder. It worked. She slammed body first into the steel, knocking the air from her lungs and almost breaking her grip. “Follow me and climb.” N’golo shook his head   
“At least it got her moving again.”

Midway up the climb, another rumble started. They paid it no mind, continuing up the endless shaft. As they finally reached the top, the gazed out over the warthog bay, burning loudly and crumbling around them. “What now?” Dimitra panted.   
“Same plan, get to the spine and get picked up.”  
“Good plan,” Dimitra said sardonically. N’golo ignored her, instead running to the exit, and looking out over the open air. He turned on his radio, crying out over the frequencies. “Eric, Gretel, Simon, anybody! It’s N’golo, I’m with Dimitra. We’re on the top of the frigate! We need immediate evac! Anybody? I repeat, we are on the frigate, we need evac!”  
“N’golo! They’re not coming!”  
“No, they have to!”  
“Can’t you see? They are gone. They are long gone.” She pointed over the horizon, and, as she said, the speck of a pelican disappeared into the distance.  
N’golo swore softly, turning back to the warthog bay. “There’s more than one way out of here.” He dashed back inside, mounting up into the most intact jeep he could find. Dimitra looked blankly, unable to comprehend his actions. “We can’t outrun this, N’golo.” He didn’t reply. “This is a pointless exercise.” The engine sputtered. She persisted. “This won’t work!”   
“Then bloody hell Dimitra, what else am I supposed to do? Sit here and wait to die?” The engine roared to life, and he drove out of the bay. “Either get in, or get left behind.” She sighed, climbing into the passenger seat.   
It rocketed along the dorsal section of the frigate, riding past the rapidly collapsing structures all around. Steel and iron tumbled away like rotting flesh, leaving only the fractured supports and mass of cables and wires. “Where do we go from here?”   
“Along the hull, to the fracture. We need to get to ground level, and get the hell out of here.” He slammed it into higher gear, the struggling engine screaming from the punishment. They passed further along the structure, struggling to remain on the solid path to their salvation. Only as they reached the rupture, did N’golo relax a little.   
“I hope you have your seatbelt on,” He said, gunning the warthog over the edge, and tumbling down into the sandy dunes below. The jeep smashed against the hull, riding down the mish-mash of broken metal. They rocketed down onto the dunes, smashing against the dashboard and shattering the windshield. But they were alive.   
“Come on, come on!” N’golo grunted, pressing the pedal as hard as he could. The steering had become damaged in the fall, and he struggled to maintain a straight line. “How long before it blows?”  
“I have no idea. It was set for around fifteen minutes.”  
“So, we’ve got about two minutes to get as far as possible from a nuke? Oh, this is going to be an incredible story!”   
He wasn’t sure how long it took, but eventually the inevitable occurred. The frigate flashed, an inescapable white glow. It was a silent burst, and then the world was dark. Sand was flung up around them, shards of razor-sharp glass billowing about their heads like angry snowflakes. They smashed against the chassis, one even scratching his neck. But they were alive. Somehow.   
The jeep was overturned, half buried in sand. He was bleeding and felt broken, but he could see again now. Dimitra was smothered in the glass, spewing runny bile. He crawled to her, tapping her cheek lightly. She spoke, but no sound came out. N’golo sank back to his knees, exhausted. But alive.

Simon found Eric, tallying the weapons still packed in storage. He was instructing their placement and loading, rearranging them constantly. “Any news?”   
“Nothing. They’re moving at the same pace, scouts say. Should be here by tomorrow evening, at the latest.”  
“Understood. Any word on reinforcements?”  
“Nothing. I don’t know if our messages aren’t getting through, or if they’re ignoring them.”  
“Gretel?”  
“She’s stable. Recovering.”  
“Right. How about you? How are you holding up?”  
Simon paused at the seemingly out of character question. “I’m alright, I guess. Nervous…guilty, a little. But I can hold a gun straight, and I’m not dead yet, so I’m better than most around here.”  
“You know, you don’t have to act tough.”  
“I’m not acting tough? I’m fine, sarge. We’ve got bigger problems right now.”  
“The biggest problem for me is always going to be the wellbeing of my squad. Right now, that means you and Gretel. Gretel, I know about, you? Not so much.”  
“Well, I’m fine. I’ve got to get back to work, anyway.” He turned to leave when a soldier burst in, panting.  
She stood to attention, as well as she could, and said “Sergeant, there’s been an arrival. A warthog, in bad shape. With two passengers.”  
“Alright. Get them a check-up and brief them on the situation,”  
“Sergeant, one asked for you. Said he was N…something with an N.” Eric raced out the room faster than light.   
“Eric?”  
“N’golo! Bloody hell, how did you get here?”  
“Time for that later. For now, explain what the hell is going on?”  
“We’re waiting here, we have to hold the base. Especially since Gretel took some rounds and isn’t going anywhere.”  
“What happened?”  
“She got hit waiting for Dimitra at the frigate…it was only us three made it out.”  
“Oh, have I got news for you.”  
“What does that mean?” Eric paused, looking on Dimitra. Bloody, bruised Dimitra, who seemed exhausted to the point of death. But it was her.   
He dashed forward, embracing her tightly. “Jesus, lass. Remind me never to get in your way,” he chuckled. She smiled weakly and he pulled away, smeared in dust and ash. “Where did you pick her up?”  
“On the frigate. When I found out your mission, I told them to drop me as close as possible. I was on the north side and saw a phantom full of covvies arrive, so I climbed up a dune to the service elevator, hoping to ambush them from behind. Only I walked into an exploding shit show, and found her.”  
“Then we stole a warthog, and somehow outran a nuclear explosion,” Dimitra chuckled. Eric was dumbstruck. “You two are some tough sons of bitches. You make a pretty good team, too.”  
“Tell me about it. Anyway, fill me in on the situation.”  
Eric sat across from N’golo in an office. They drained their glasses, filling them with water again as they spoke. “The long and short of it is, we’ve got plenty of ordnance, just no one to use the damn things.”  
“So what? Why do we need to hold this place so badly anyway?”  
“Apparently ONI thinks it has ‘strategic value’, but I wager it’s got more of those ruins that we found. Covvies can’t keep their hands off those.”  
“You’re right there. So what’s the plan?”  
“You’re not going to like it.”  
“Come on, how bad can it be?”  
N’golo launched to his feet as Eric informed him of his plan to release the prisoners. “You want to release the racist pieces of shit? They’re lucky I don’t kill them myself!”  
“N’golo, calm down! Let me explain!”  
“No, Eric. Let me explain. Do you know what those bastards do? Hm?”  
“Do you know what those bastards do?” Eric pointed out to the wastes, where the covenant army approached. “Of course, you do. We all do, Il Donni too. If we explain what’s going to happen they’ll fight for us.”  
“Fat chance.”  
“N’golo! Please, understand that I don’t want this. It’s just what is necessary.”  
“Bullshit!” He threw his cup aside, shattering the glass. “If fighting with them is what we have to do, it’s better to lose!”  
“Since when were you so picky?”  
“Since you chose to fight alongside the fucking Klan!”  
“There is no choice to be made here! We need more men!”  
“Eric, you are one bold bastard. You’re also my best friend. I don’t want us to be killing each other because of the Il Donni, and I don’t want them fighting with me.”  
“But if-”  
“Let me finish. But if it means we survive, then fine. On one condition.”  
“Go on.”  
“They have to be the vanguard. Put them to work digging trenches, planting sandbags. Outside the wall.”  
“Deal. I’ll go talk to them.”  
“I’m coming with you.”  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”  
“Yes. If they won’t take orders from me, I’ll have them all hanged.”  
The prison block was a depressing sight. Sludge, human waste and a manner of ungainly fluids ran down the cement vein into the drain. It was uncovered and lead to a cesspool they had repurposed as solitary confinement.   
Eric looked up to the cells and curled his lip. A man to each cell, the size of a small shower. He snatched a truncheon and ran the tool against the scratched steel bars. “Oi, rise and shine!”  
There was no reply. Eric repeated his call until a voice rang out from the ovular pit from which an ungodly stench emanated. “For the love of God, shut the fuck up!”  
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the smell of shit!”  
“Fuck you!”  
“Look, do you want out of here, or not?” Immediately, the man grew more agreeable.  
“I’m listening.”  
“We’re about to be besieged by the covenant, and we need more men.”  
“Oh, this is rich! You want our help?”  
“Do you wanna die? Because, much as I’d love to put a bullet in you, it’s not your time yet. The covenant doesn’t care about that, and they’ll overrun this place and kill us all. Unless, you can put your outdated bigotry behind you, and fight for humanity. All of humanity.”  
“Alright. Fine. Let me out, and we’ll get to work.”  
They released the leader first. He was covered in the disgusting sludge, and recoiled when the icy hose doused him. It ran off him in sheets of shit, and blasted his skin a rough red, like a painful rash. He spat his hair from his mouth, and looked up at N’golo. “What you lookin’ at, big lips?” Eric swung a brutal backhand at him with the truncheon. A tooth clattered on the concrete, and a trail of blood ran down into the drain. The leader buckled to his knees, spitting the blood aside. “That wasthn’t vewy nice,” he lisped.   
“You’re not very nice. Now get up.” He did so, and Eric struck his legs, sending him back to the floor. “Keep your boys in check, or there’s more where that came from.” He looked at the prison guard, tossing him the truncheon. “Anymore issues, don’t be afraid to give me a call. Or don’t. Hit him a few times, and the message should get through.”  
“Oh, it’ll be my pleasure, sir.” Eric and N’golo marched off, the latter lingering, watching with disgust as they marched out the Il Donni. He noticed his fist was clenched.   
N’golo was ready with a tirade when they entered Eric’s sparse office. “You’re making a mistake.”  
“You’ve mentioned that a few times, now.”  
“For good reason.”  
“We’re not having this discussion. I’ve made the decision, they’re getting let loose.”  
“If those animals hurt anyone, that’s on you. Remember that.” He stormed out onto the baked sand. Eric flopped into a chair, sighing heavily. “I’ll remember, don’t you worry.”  
Simon was immersed in scouting, scanning the empty horizon for any sign of their impending doom. This would be impossible. His hands shook as he sipped from a canteen. The water was warm, but it soothed his raw throat, and lessened the sickening pit in his stomach. Dimitra called from the ladder, pulling herself onto the smoothed, sun baked steel observation deck. “What do you see?” The wind whistled softly, rivulets of sand floating past, serene as the night sky. “Let’s think…rocks. Dirt. Sand. Oh, and some more sandy, dirty rocks.” Simon put down the plastic wrapped binoculars.   
“That’s good news,” Dimitra said. He couldn’t tell if she was sincere.   
“What are you doing here, Dimitra? You’re not meant to be up and moving.”  
“Since when were you such a stickler for the rules?” She chuckled. “You’ve been spending too much time around the sergeant.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
“It means, Simon, that although there are plenty of things we shouldn’t do, it doesn’t mean we can’t.”  
“Now you sound like the one who’s been spending too much time with someone; N’golo.”  
“Not too much time. He knows what he’s doing, Simon. You should talk to him sometime.”  
“I have a feeling he wouldn’t be in a talking mood right now.”  
“Why not?”  
“Haven’t you heard? There’s some changes of manpower around here, and it’s making a rift between Eric and N’golo.”  
“What do you mean?”   
“They let the insurrection loose. They’re being armed for the frontlines.”  
“He did what?” Dimitra sputtered, certain she had misheard. But Simon’s guilty face told her otherwise.   
“We have active rebels behind our lines? Armed?”  
“Armed. Yes. But not necessarily behind our lines. They’ve planned for them to be a vanguard of sorts, out beyond the wall.”  
“Oh, well that is wonderful! That makes it all ok!”  
“I never said I agree!”  
“Oh, but you’re going along with it, aren’t you?”  
“Yes! What else would you have me do? Orders are orders Dimitra!”  
“Not if you disobey.”  
Her words hung in the still air. “Where would that get us?” Simon asked, “court martialled and shot in a ditch.”  
“From what I’ve seen, the sergeant wouldn’t mind ruling with an iron fist.” Dimitra said. “Don’t talk badly about him,” Simon bit back. “He’s doing his best,”  
“Oh, and that makes everything all ok?”  
“He’s kept us all alive so far. He’s a good man.”  
“A good man wouldn’t do this,” Dimitra said darkly. “A good man would care about lives more than this.”  
“We’re at war Dimitra. We had orders to hold this place, and that’s what we’ve got to do. If that means letting some bastards go, I say good. Let them die, maybe they’ll repent and have their eternal souls saved. Maybe they won’t.”   
“I didn’t know you were religious?” Dimitra was taken aback my talk of souls.  
“I’m not particularly. But imminent painful death tends to give you some…” he looked out over the wastes “perspective.”  
“Oh, that is rich!” Dimitra laughed. “Perspective gives you the ability to think about the immortal souls of the dead, but not the livelihood of the very much living?”  
“Dimitra! How many times? If we don’t let these men go, we cannot win. If we do let them go, we might have a chance!”  
“So that’s it? You don’t have an issue with this?”  
“Of course, I have an issue.”  
“But let me guess, you’re following orders?”  
“Yes? Exactly that?”  
“I’ve given my view on orders.”  
“And I’ve given my view of where it’ll get you.”  
“Maybe. But if I survive, I’ll sleep easy knowing I did what I thought was right.”  
“And Eric and myself are in the wrong?”  
“I didn’t say that. But if you disagree, fundamentally, you should act accordingly.”  
“Like N’golo?”  
“Exactly like N’golo.”  
“Last time you acted as he wanted, it almost got you killed.”  
Dimitra slapped him for that. Hard. He buckled back, his cheek burning red. “Don’t you ever talk about things you don’t understand.” Dimitra pointed a finger at him, shaping the hand to slap him again when he tried to protest. “You’re right. I almost died. But I didn’t. Even so, we saved lives that day, and I would gladly give my own life to protect others. So willing, in fact, that I will not hesitate to die in the coming hours, for the sake of those around me.”  
“But you don’t have to die if we have them fighting beside us!”  
“I don’t care about that! Do you understand what it means to be hated by someone so fully, so clearly, for something you can’t help? Something that is a part of you?”   
He stayed silent, sinking to the floor. From this position, he looked up at her through tear filled eyes. Her face burned with fury, but in her eyes, he saw fear. The white, blinding terror that destroyed you. As his eyes sank to the floor, they passed over the stark white scars lining her forearms. His throat tightened, and his eyes carried on to the floor. So that was what Gretel meant. “Dimitra, I’m…I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have come to this.”  
“You’re right. It shouldn’t.” She paused, her fury passing, replaced by confusion. “I don’t see a way out of this…” She whispered. Then her fury returned, masking the vulnerability that threatened to consume not just her, but everyone in the base. He knew the look. She turned, her legs clunking against the metal rungs. Simon watched her descend for a while, then leaned back and cried.


	12. Sinking of the Sun

Simon had let loose his tear for a long time up there. Hed lost track of time, and when he finally looked up again, the sky was dark. Black as velvet, save for specks of twinkling starlight. He swallowed any emotion he felt, pushing his pride down deepest, and went searching for Dimitra. When he couldn’t find her, he went instead to Gretel, certain she could offer some insight.   
She was awake as he arrived, fidgeting like a child. “You look healthier,” he smiled, trying to hide the maelstrom of emotion inside him. It didn’t work. She picked up on it immediately. “What is it? You wouldn’t be here with that look on your face if you didn’t need something.”   
Simon sat down heavily, too exhausted to feel hurt. Her coarseness was out of character, and he questioned her on it. “I’m bored and hurt. I get to be brisk. Now speak, and I’ll try to quiet your mind.”   
“I’m sure you’ve heard about Eric’s plan?”  
“Ah, yes. The much-touted changing of the guard? What of it?”  
“Dimitra and I argued about it.”  
“And you want to know why?”  
“Give me more credit than that, Doc. I know why she doesn’t like it. They hate people of colour, and she falls into that category. What I don’t get is why she’s so incredibly upset? It seems unreasonable.”  
“Race is a simple issue made far too complicated. Everyone deserves equality, and that’s that. Dimitra knows that and, as a scientist, she hates the irrational hatred.”  
“So, it’s hatred of the concept, less of selfishness?”   
“Perhaps? It would be my first guess. But…”  
“But what?”  
“No, I can’t say anything, Simon.”  
“If it’s-” he paused to lower his voice. “If it’s about mental health, I know. You let on before, and I saw her scars. Doc, she didn’t try to hide them.”  
“That doesn’t make this ok.” Gretel was clearly distressed.  
“I argue otherwise, Doc. If we aren’t on the best terms, then we can’t fight on the same side. It’ll cloud our judgement and get us killed. It’ll get her killed.”  
Gretel smirked sadly. “You know just what to say, don’t you? Fine. Listen closely. Dimitra has had…a troubled life. I’m certain you are aware she was a prodigy, and suffered a terrible chemical accident, hence her prosthetic. But as for how this ties in to the race issue… Simon, I want to make this clear. I am speculating. Do not take what I say as Gospel. But my thoughts would deduce that Dimitra feels this hatred is unfair, especially when she has so recently felt accepted and, dare I say, loved?”  
Simon nodded, thinking deeply. “So you think that, after hating herself for a long time, and finally getting to a relatively stable position, she’s upset that people have continued the hatred she once had for herself?” Gretel tried to reply, but a booming klaxon and the rumble of cannons drowned her out. N’golo rushed by, pulling Simon aside. “We need to get to the war room, now.”  
“But what about Gretel?”  
“Eric didn’t say anything about her. He wanted you and Dimitra. Seeing as she’s already there, I recommend you shut it and get moving, sharpish.”  
“Understood,” Simon snatched up his helmet and pressed it to his skull as he ran.  
The war room was buzzing with life, and Eric was desperately trying to dictate proper response. As Simon and N’golo approached, he was delegating command. “-they need support. Get turrets overhead, and manned. ASAP. The west approach is gonna be hit hard. Have a double line there, and have the chief watching over it.” He ordered more preparations, and it seemed the wall was going to hold. “Good to have you all back,” he said, not sounding at all happy. “I’ll cut the shit. Banshees were buzzing over the far ridge, and shots got fired. That means the covenant are going to be here ahead of schedule. And as if our luck couldn’t get worse, a supply caravan we tried to have rerouted has been ambushed. Our first support team I sent an hour ago haven’t made it back. What did however, is this.” He held up a crumpled note.

Stranded in Siren’s Crag. Supplies compromised. Casualties high and rising. Send help ASAP. 

Simon read it in his head twice first then aloud twice more. The room fell silent. Eric leaned forward, his rustic chair creaking. “Saddle up, we need to save our men.”  
Simon hadn’t expected saddle up to be taken literally, but there they were. Thundering across a plateau towards the toothy rock biting to the sky. He couldn’t hear much over the sound of the charging hooves, and as they mounted up the cannons had fired louder and louder, but what he could remember of the justification went something along the lines of “We can’t spare any vehicles, and these mounts are the best we’ve got. Just ride it like a horse, and try to keep up.”  
The animals in question looked to be a sort of horse-camel hybrid, and they were startlingly fast across the desert sands. Their beige coats blended nicely with the billowing sand that churned around their ankles. “Are we nearly there?” Simon asked  
“About three minutes out by my reckoning, but I could be wrong.” N’golo replied. Sure enough, the sounds of scorching plasma and the death rattle of a machine gun guided them to their targets. In half a minute, they were gazing into the gorge. Across the gap, tumbling crowds of covenant moved to the lip, firing down upon the pinned soldiers.   
Eric’s squad opened fire on the opposite side of the gorge. Instantly the herd began to thin, corpses sliding down into the gorge. Their falls stained the rock with blood, like ancient cave paintings. “Cover me,” Eric ordered, jumping into the gorge. He slid down the side, rolling as he reached the bottom. It wasn’t too deep, maybe five or six metres. But it had been enough to incapacitate a warthog. Another vehicle was crumpled like paper, tiny pebbles scattered around it like a burial ritual. They had chipped from the massive boulder it had evidently impacted with.   
All through the gorge, the pulverized stone was dented and burned. Clumsy shooting and reckless explosives had weakened one side, and as it fell in a cloud of rubble, Simon’s legs buckled and he fell face first into the gap. He gasped in pain as a hand gripped his foot, holding him aloft. N’golo, grimacing from effort, started to heave Simon back to safety.   
His head began to spin and his limbs felt heavy, but N’golo gritted his teeth and continued to drag Simon. Plasma began to burn away the stone around him, making it run like mud. These oozing sores trickled the fresh lava down the wall of the gorge, the heat threatening to overwhelm Simon. He raised his pistol, trying to land a few shots across the gorge. He couldn’t tell if they hit, but he carried on firing. He heard N’golo shouting to Dimitra. “Cover me!” He repeated, then cried out in pain. His fingers slipped from around Simon’s ankle. His pistol hit the sand before him, and as he smashed into the floor, his final thoughts were drowned out by N’golo’s cries of “I’m hit!” Simon’s vision went black.  
Dimitra rushed to N’golo’s side, looking at the horrific scorch mark across his right bicep. She pushed her fingers to it, and N’golo sucked in breath. Dimitra swore, pulling a pair of scissors from her breastplate. She cut away at the fabric and daubed the raw flesh with sour smelling ointment. “Third degree burn.” Her mind fell blank, and she sank back. Her leg twanged with pain, and she rattled her head to focus. “Third degree, I’ve applied ointment.” She blinked, trying to get the images out of her head. “It’s going to be sore, but it won’t kill you,” she started hyperventilating. “You’ll need proper care when we get back, but until then, get back up.”   
“That’s,” N’golo hissed in pain as his hand wrapped around the gun again. “That’s easy for you to say!”  
“It really, really, isn’t!” She insisted, her voice venom. N’golo looked back at her, back at her prosthetic, and noticed her pounding chest, and his mouth fell agape. “I’m so sorry!”  
“Not now! Check on Simon!” She raised her weapon again, recommencing the fire across the gorge to lessen the pressure on Eric.   
N’golo peered over the edge and saw Simon, lying still in a heap. “Oh, fucking hell!” He looked around for a way down, and, seeing none, cursed his luck. “Eric!” He called through the radio. “Eric, Simon took a tumble. He’s not moving and there’s no way for me to reach him!”  
“You what? Fucking-” static and plasma fire cut his radio off.   
“Eric? Eric, are you there?”  
“I’m alive, over. Hardly. There’s nothing down here, N’golo! Just fucking corpses and wrecks!”  
“Son of a bitch,” N’golo muttered. “Can you get out at all?”  
“Not bloody likely! Unless the fucking gorge wall comes down again!”  
“Just keep searching for survivors! Dimitra and I will cover you, and we’ll think of something!”  
“You better do it fast! We really kicked the hornet’s nest with this one!”  
Eric tumbled aside, falling through a section of upturned metal. He fell to the ground, reaching for his rifle. A foot pinned it to the floor, and three shaking barrels were pointed at him. “Who are you?” a man asked, his accent thick.   
“Sergeant Eric Stevens. I’m here to rescue you.”  
“You are doing good job!” He said sarcastically. Eric ignored him, snatching his rifle back up, reloading it quickly. “Any idea about other survivors?”  
“I do not know. We send few men out for searching, but none return.”  
“When was that?”   
“Ten minutes ago.”  
“Right.” Eric seriously doubted anyone could have survived out there for that long, but he was willing to search. “Get yourselves on your feet, follow me and keep your heads down.”   
They left the makeshift hovel back into the crossfire. A pillar of rock, like an island in the centre of the gorge, guarded them from above. Eric looked up along the stone, and, feeling the surface, felt it was porous. “This rock is pretty soft. If we can find some sharp enough metal, we should be able to scale it and jump across to the far side.”  
“Da,” one of the survivors said. “I go find metal. Other remain.”  
“Understood. I’ll search for more survivors. If I’m not back in ten minutes, leave without me.” Eric and the soldier left from opposite sides of the rock shelf, covered by the burst from the trio of survivors who remained. He blasted around a corner, followed by a hail of plasma and glowing pink needles. He scrambled to cover behind a crashed hornet. He caught his breath, then pulled himself to his feet.  
He rose to his feet, then was slammed right back into the dirt by an elite to his rear. The alien roared in fury and gripped Eric’s head, lifting him with fingers clamped around his cranium like a vice. Eric was glaring up at the barbaric face, his knees still on the floor. His body was an arch, curved in an excruciating manner, straining his every muscle. Something kept him awake, fighting the screaming force pushing on his cranium. Something, be it fury, fear or death throes.   
He fumbled for his gun, grunting when an armoured fist powered into his ribs. He felt one shatter. He coughed blood, splattering against his visor. His broken fingers stroked the stinging hot blade of his knife. He locked his digits around the steel, slicing his skin open, almost dropping the blade as slick blood ran down it. He jabbed the tip into the elite’s eye, sending showers of sticky, tar like blood cascading over him. The elite relinquished its grasp, freeing Eric to punch the hilt of the blade, sending to steel a further four inches into the alien’s skull.  
With a final roar, both combatants fell to the ground. Eric groaned and looked at his fingers. The crooked digits felt dislocated. He swayed in the wind, gripping his fingers tightly. Removing his helmet and biting down on his knife’s sheath, he twisted his fingers back into place. He screamed silently, pain racking his hand. With a sob, he spat the sheath aside, pulling the knife from his dead foe’s eye socket. He arranged his paraphernalia, and was off again on the search.  
Simon, shockingly, was alive. And in even worse shape than Eric. Through his blurred vision, Simon had witnessed Eric’s brutal escapade, gasping as he threw the jab at the knife hilt, thrusting it into the elite’s eye socket. Simon, flinching at the sight, realised he had regained control of his limbs. With that knowledge, came knowledge of the pain in those limbs. He stifled vomit from the agony, gripping the rocks around him, and started to crawl. It was slow work at first. But as he started to move, his speed increased, and he headed forth, towards the burrow he had seen the others rush into, and that Eric had dashed for.   
Eric, encountering a pack of jackals, swore and ducked behind a boulder. His rifle was running low, and he felt no chance remained. Despite everything, the covenant seemed undeterred. Not just here, in the gorge, but across the planet. His efforts had all been for nothing, and he would die here now. He stood, free from cover, and awaited his imminent death. But it never came. The jackals weren’t armed. They raised their shields and bared their claws, but were otherwise bare. Eric was startled, but felt reinvigorated.   
He let slip a burst of rounds, ripping open one of the jackals. It burst like a grape, gore running down the wall behind it. The others readied their shields, bracing against the gunfire, but moving forward still. Eric kept up the barrage, but as they drew closer, he recognised the futility. He loosed his final rounds, landing a lucky hit on the exposed hand of a jackal. The limb split from the body, and he threw his rifle like a javelin at the off-balance alien. The others, unprepared for the huge impact of Eric’s entire body, fell down and crumpled under him.   
Eric felt their hollow, avian bones crack and splinter. He drew his knife slashing at the final two jackals. The closed their shields, slashing the air with claws. One dashed to Eric’s side, and he jabbed it in the gut. The other feinted to his left, then rolled and leapt onto his shoulder, slashing at his helmet. A claw poked through the visor, narrowly avoiding gouging out his eye. Only a hail of rounds from a cave in front of him saved his life. Eric threw off the jackal and hit the floor, panting in terror. “That was too fucking close!” he said, taking his rifle back gratefully.  
A group of five more soldiers, marines from their BDU’s, were huddled in the cave. Eric glanced around at their scared faces, sighing at their terror. Glassy eyes and long stares told stories he never hoped to hear, but knew would leave scars upon their minds, for a long time after this battle. He explained the situation and their potential escape, but they flinched in horror when the cave entrance fell dark. A hulking brute blocked their exit, and the boldest marine, levelling his shotgun, tried to fire off a round. He never pulled the trigger, and Eric saw the weapon and its owner sail through the air, propelled by the incredible power of the brute. It gripped Eric’s arm, and would have pulled him close and snapped his neck, had a shotgun blast not vaporised its face. The buckshot blast tore through the inky black of the cave, the hot orange flash trailing liquid sand behind it. Leaning on the cave wall, half conscious and drained of all energy, was Simon.  
The soldiers he had so graciously saved rushed to Simon’s aid, lowering him down gently. “Jesus, he looks like he took a hit!” One observed  
“He fell from the ridge,” Eric dismissed them, “Simon, son. Can you stand?”  
“Stand? Oh, hi sarge…Stand? Yeah, yeah. I can…stand.” Simon blinked slowly, as if he was trying to rid himself of tears. Eric, taking one proper look at the man, decided against his insistence, and instead ordered the others to carry him.   
“We need to get out of here. We sorted a way to climb the gorge, we just need to get there. I’ll take point, just keep close.” Eric levelled his rifle and stepped out into the light once again. It was almost pitch black now, in the shadow of the ridge. Flashes of plasma and bursts of muzzle flash were the only guiding light. He followed the cries and gunfire back to where he had left the first group he rescued.   
On the way, he contacted N’golo, hoping to uncover any further survivors. “What does it look like from up there?”  
“Eric? Shit, it’s good to hear your voice. I’ll be honest, it looks dicey. There’s no real movement down there, and the covvies just keep coming.”  
Eric sighed. “Understood. We’re on our way back. We’ve got maybe ten survivors, and Simon is wounded but alive.”  
“Alive? Say again?”  
“Alive. He took a tumble, and he’s possibly concussed, but he’s still breathing.” Eric heard N’golo whistle through the din. “Kid’s tougher than I thought.”  
“Takes after you.”  
“Whatever. It’s sunset, Eric. Get your arse back up here ASAP, or we’ll be running back into a battlefield.”  
When they eventually reached the makeshift ladder, many of the soldiers were already climbing. Vasily, the man who had gone in search of metal for use as rungs, was directing them in their efforts. “Left leg. Reach up higher. Da, is good.” Under his orders, much of the group at the base of the ridge had already started to climb, and some were over the threshold. “Vas, what’s the situation down there?” N’golo called down, his pistol letting off rounds. “Sergeant has returned! We be up soon!”  
“Thank fuck! Well done mate, get yourself up!”   
Eric held the base of the ascent, returning fire up to the opposite bank of the gorge. His rifle never stopped firing until the final soldiers were finishing their climb. At last, only he and Simon remained. “Simon, come on. Get up, it’s not far!” He nudged the young soldier, but he wouldn’t wake. With a curse, Eric looked for a solution. Amongst the dust, blood and rock, nothing served a purpose. The falling plasma barrage began to grow, and the threat of being overrun pushed Eric to act.   
Kneeling before Simon, he slapped him until his eyes opened, and ordered him, as sternly as he could, to wrap his arms around his back. Simon, scared half to death and unable to protest, did his best. Eric, feeling the bulk on his back, looked up at the shoddy metal rungs. Would they even hold the weight? Now was not the time for such thoughts, he decided. He wrapped his hand around the steel and began to climb.  
Immediately, his muscles felt weary. Such immense weight was not his custom. His arms groaned and Eric struggled to even keep himself aloft. He was forced to coach himself into keeping up, let alone reach for the next rung. Yet when he did, his arms felt like they pushed through quicksand. Dull fingers gropied fleetingly for the safety of a support. Once or twice, the supports gave way. He was forced to scramble for another foothold, or face doom.   
As his climb continued, Eric’s fatigue dominated his mind. Nothing existed but the fire in his biceps. His numb fingers twitched from exertion. Sweat streamed down his face and back, slicking Simon’s weak grip. Twice a slicing burst of plasma ripped away the rock. These tirades of molten stone made his ruddy cheeks threaten to glow with burning heat. Even so, despite their best efforts, the covenant could not hit their target. Be it from the gloom, effective cover fire, or sheer luck, Eric reached the summit. His face peered over the ridge and a marine rushed forth to snatch Simon from his back. Eric could not rest, reaching his arm up for a better hold when his legs gave way.   
The sudden shift of weight had dislodged both footholds, and Eric scrambled for a grip. He slid down the rock, bruising his chest and legs on the exposed, jagged rock. His arms looked in vain for a grip and his pumping legs only served to expedite his demise. As his fingers slipped over the edge and he was left in the air, he felt suspended, ever so slightly.   
For a half second, not even that, he hung in the air. For that brief moment of peace, he felt satisfaction. Simon was in good hands, thanks to him. His team would persist.   
Then the peace was extinguished, and his collapse to the earth resumed. It lasted a very short time. N’golo had, once again, pulled through. With immense force of will, his grip on Eric’s outstretched arms tightened, and he braced against the rock edge. Three more marines rushed to pull Eric to safety, almost ripping his arms from their sockets in the effort. Yet he survived.   
Against all odds, Eric was alive. Shattered, spread eagled on sand, but surprisingly stable. He took a deep breath and rolled to his front, beginning his run back to the animals. The plasma barrage intensified, cutting down to of his rescuers. Eric’s screaming legs almost collapsed, but he kept running. Slower than he ever could have envisioned, but he kept moving. As he slowed, N’golo reached an animal, shouting the others to ride on. He whirled the beast round, passing by Eric. He snatched the man from the dirt, heaving him aboard the saddle. They whipped around once more, and faded from view into the night, the heat of the sinking sun warming their backs. Or maybe it was the plasma.   
On their return journey, Vasily recounted his own fateful voyage. “Convoy was enroute to secondary defence line. When covenant army attacked, we were ambushed and fell to gorge. Distress signal was sent.” He paused as they passed through a thicket of brush. It snagged on the hooves and legs of the animals, but they soon passed. A female marine continued his story. “Our rescue convoy arrived in time to see Vas’ convoy getting picked off. We took up positions and waded in to rescue them. Passing phantom hit us hard, and we had to break off. A single mongoose headed back, and I assume delivered the message.”  
“Yeah, he got it here,” N’golo concluded. “Just in time, too. Any longer and you’d have been cooked!”   
The rest of their journey was silent, but for the thunder of hooves.


	13. Last Force to Fall

They returned too late. As the skirmish force passed over a ridge, they stared out across the battlefield. A black sky lit only by blue and yellow flashes of fire acted as the morbid backdrop to the slaughter below. The animals whinnied in fear, and their riders tried to quiet them to no avail. “Jesus,” Simon held back the fear in his voice. Eric nodded. A marine behind shuffled back. “We can’t go in there. We do, we die.” Eric whirled round to the soldier. “Did I give you permission to speak? No? Then keep your trap shut, before I go over and close it for you!”  
“Sir, you’re not seriously suggesting we ride into that, are you?”   
“Yes, I am! Now since you were so against the idea, you can go first!”  
“Sir, I really don’t think it’s a good idea!”  
“Well I do, so can it, and move!” He slapped the flanks of the animal and it rocketed down the ridge to the rear of the covenant force. The others, stunned into silence, followed suit.  
They dashed down the hillside like hussars of old. Rifles spat lead into the back of an army. Their force, hardly thirty able soldiers, passed into the enemy lines, and began their battle. N’golo pulled his animal near, trampling foes as it reared in panic. Eric, firing wildly from its back, roared in triumph. Before they realised what had occurred, the covenant was reeling.   
Simon and Dimitra rode side by side, cutting a path for the rear riders, who widened the trenches formed in the mass of bodies. “Keep moving! Don’t let them pin you down!” N’golo warned over the radio. He was hardly audible over the explosive cacophony of death.   
Rapidly, their passage slowed. When their fires were extinguished and ammunition burned dry, the ODST’s looked for salvation. “Eric!” Simon grunted as he kicked away a marauding alien. “Eric, what’s the plan? We need to regroup!”  
“No! Spread out, don’t let them dial you in!” Eric was breathing hard. He felt his neck and his fingers came away bloody. “Dial us in? We’re in their backyard!”  
“He’s right!” a marine added. “We need to break out, retreat!”  
“Do that and I’ll kill you myself!” N’golo spat.  
“Then what?” Simon said. “If we don’t run, then where do we go?”   
“Deeper! We can reach the trenches by cutting through the middle!”  
“That will never work!”  
“Any other ideas?”  
“Not right now, but I’m sure there’s something better!” Simon said desperately.  
“No! There is not.” Dimitra disagreed mournfully. “He is right, Simon. We have to push through the heart of this plague!”  
So, they did. Panic stricken, weak, riddled with doubt. The animals flinched and whinnied in abject terror, but they dug in their heels and pushed forward. Soldiers fell and animals were incinerated by the overpowering thrum of plasma. Despite the sizeable gouge they had formed in the rear guard, the marching had not slowed. It seemed to have grown stronger, with the thundering drum of feet sending their limbs trembling.  
The air grew hot. Heavy ash and burning soot, thicker than fog, blocked their path. Everything was hot to the touch, and sweat ran down in a deluge. The deluge of bodies grew thicker, and the shambling human advance was brought to a standstill. A mortar smashed away the pair of elites blocking Dimitra’s path. Her animal reared, throwing her down into the hot sand. It was cut down after her, smothering her shaking body in emerald blood.   
A flash, high in the air, illuminated the battlefield. Through the darkness, for less than half a second, there was a spark of light. Eric glanced up hopefully, longing for a view of the battlefield. His positivity was obliterated by the sight of endless hordes of alien crusaders, ready to purge them. His positivity was not all that disappeared.   
A second flash impacted the earth. Its arc, burned into N’golo’s retina, pointed to the frigate passing behind a cloud. But back on the desert floor, the effects were far more permanent. Hot sand, melting to glassy shards, rained down like diamond hail. It sliced away at the pulsing, panicked mass of life. Shields flared and lines broke. Two more flashes, landing closer this time, snapped the soldiers from their stupor, but threw them into the dirt, just as it did with all the other corpses.   
In a second they were up and running, the seams of their BDU’s scratching away at their skin. Arcs of sand flew up, pattering the land around with dry rain. The shuffling lines had broken into an explosive free for all. “Into the trench!” N’golo cried. They nodded, agreeing more from terror than thought. Terror guided their every move. The blows they threw, the ground they covered.   
They broke any boundary of strength they consider their limit. Multiple times. Tiredness was not a concept, it was their dominating state of existence. Adrenaline no longer aided them, and it was only on their final approach did they come to their sense. “Where are the defences?”   
“Dead, maybe?” Eric spat venomously. They looked at him scornfully, dropping into the makeshift trench, hardly a day old. Eric’s legs gave way, and his head smacked into the dirt. “You ok?” N’golo reached for his shoulder, but Eric threw his arm away. Bitterly, N’golo turned from his sergeant, looking instead to his subordinates. “Thirty seconds, then we need to fall back again. Don’t get comfy.” As he finished speaking, both soldiers sank to the floor, chuckling madly. Or maybe it was exhaustion. Regardless, the shimmering air behind was unnatural. “Move!” N’golo barrelled towards the grounded privates, who shot back in fear.   
The mountain of a man flew over them, impacting with thin air. As they hit the floor in unison, N’golo pummelled the cloaked elite he held a grip on. “Help!” he pleaded, shifting his hands to the gnashing mandibles. Simon, gripping a rock, launched it into the now visible chest of the elite. It popped like a grape, purple blood showering the walls of the trench. It stuck like tar, and smelled like such.   
N’golo lay still, and Dimitra crawled closer, checking his faint pulse. They were, all of them, exhausted. Their breaking points were long since shattered, thrice over. Eric was still silent, no longer swaying, but braced against the trench wall. Simon was simply staring into space, his helmet hiding whatever emotion he felt.  
N’golo coughed painfully, reaching out wildly. He brushed Dimitra’s neck and shoulders, and she whispered “You are alive. Shh.” He did as she asked, his arms flopping uselessly to the floor.   
Perhaps a minute had passed, when Simon broke the silence. “What now? He didn’t want to hear an answer. For a while he thought they hadn’t heard. Another minute. No one answered, no one dared asked any more of their comrades. Another minute. N’golo sat up. “Now,” his voice was hoarse. “We get back to the base.”   
“Easier said than done.”  
“Better than sitting here.”  
“Is it?”  
“For now.”  
“For maybe five more minutes. We need to be gone before then.”  
“After you then, sarge.” Simon waved N’golo along, and he scoffed. He cast a glance at the silent, sheepish Eric. N’golo thought he hid his panic well. “I suppose I had to do the job at some point.” N’golo tried to make it sound like a joke. It didn’t work.  
He feet seemed to sink deeper into the sand. With the weight of everything on his shoulders, he did not need the weight of three more lives. But who’d ever cared what he needed. Or what he wanted? He thought back to earlier. To the Il Donni insurrectionists who, even now, were fighting alongside his brothers in arms. They didn’t have the right. The thought stirred a passion in him, burning fiery hatred, that threatened to erupt if he didn’t act.   
“Get up,” he kicked Dimitra’s leg, rousing her. “We’re moving out, and we’re making a break for the wall.”  
“We’re going back out into that?” Simon peeked over the trench lip, in awe at the illumination throughout the darkness. Speaking was a chore over the thunderous crack of MAC rounds. “If we wait any longer, we’ll be overrun.” Dimitra observed.  
“Exactly. It’s what I’ve been saying, but I’m glad you realised that!” N’golo struggled to keep his emotion under wraps. “Now seeing as someone is apparently out of commission, it’s up to me to get us back there.”  
“We’re leaving Eric?” Simon asked  
“No. One of us needs to carry him, or get him focused enough to move. Either way, I need him up, and I need it fast.”   
As N’golo was ordering, Dimitra was tapping Eric’s cheek lightly. He didn’t respond. He remained staring, blankly, into the distance. Dimitra wondered what terror those eyes had witnessed. In all the long years of combat, what had finally broken the sergeant? “N’golo, he isn’t responding.”  
“Alright, alright…I’ll have to carry him.” He stooped down, cradling his superior over his broad, aching shoulders. “When we’re back out there, keep moving. Keep your head down and keep moving. Move fast, move erratic, and don’t stop. Not for me, not for anybody. Understand?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I said, understand?”  
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Simon and Dimitra both uttered the words without conviction. They didn’t feel a scrap of hope or confidence. Merely gazing into the murky dark, pocked with flashes of gunfire made Simon feel sick. They were waiting in agony. The anticipation felt as if it was killing them, yet they remained. “Wait for the next barrage…MAC charging…it fired! Move!”   
N’golo burst over the trench ridge into the hail of gunfire and whistle of explosions. Mortars arced over the sky, invisible until their payloads incinerated whatever they touched. One such explosion nearly took Simon from his feet. The blast of sand that smacked into his side felt like buckshot. He went down like a sack of potatoes, crying out for help.   
Dimitra whipped round, seeing her companion, almost crippled by pain, stranded in the ocean of bloody sand. “I’m going for Simon!”  
“What did I say?” N’golo growled, not even looking back. “Dimitra, no!” He witnessed a flurry of pink needles pierce her leg, sparks flying from the prosthetic. N’golo lowered Eric and drew his pistol, drawing the attention of an enemy he could hardly see through the gloom.   
Simon crawled to Dimitra, shielding her body with his own. The air had returned to his lungs, and he was no longer seeing stars. “D, are you ok?”   
“I’m fine,” she coughed weakly. She rolled to her side, her eyes widening in terror as she saw the jackal leap towards Simon’s back.   
A projectile ripped the jackal out of the air, sending it careening into the chaos deeper in the massive covenant army. Dimitra realised it had been a tank shell when a pack exploded, scattering gore across the sand. N’golo, speechless at the display, didn’t even flinch as the cannon fired again. Eric and the others did. Eric shot up and began to roar. “I’ll kill them all!”   
N’golo shot a fierce glare, and launched into a vicious tirade. “You! Fucking cunt! We do the hard work, and you sit on your arse until we carry you back!”  
“Why you little-”  
“I wasn’t finished! I’ve busted my arse to get everyone this far alive, and you think you can just come in guns blazing now, at the end? No! No, I’m not having it!”  
Eric didn’t have chance to reply, as the tank had attracted unwanted attention. A rushing force of smaller, weaker covenant units scampered to the tank. Like insects, they swarmed over the hulking mammoth of machinery and began clawing away at the armour. “Focus fire on the big guys!” N’golo cried over his radio. “We’ll deal with the runts!” The covenant in the area began swarming the ordnance, hoping to disable it. 90 millimetres of tungsten ripped through a pack of jackals, flinging bleeding extremities to the sky. Trails of blue blood splashed around them, preparing the thirsty sand for the fresh corpses.   
Simon fired twice, killing a grunt growling in hatred at him. N’golo unloaded into a cluster, Dimitra cleaning up anything that he left. Simon was keeping an eye on Eric, who was unrelenting in his attack. Twice he went under in a pack of covenant. Just as Simon went to his aid, Eric had emerged, bloody and bruised, but alive and, if possible, more pissed off than before. It felt like hours before they finally cleared the area. In reality, it had maybe been five minutes. Simon collapsed into the bloody dirt, dizzy from exhaustion. The explosion, the death, it didn’t matter anymore. Why would it? He was a cog in a machine, and that machine was rapidly failing.   
His philosophy was interrupted when the hatch of the scorpion swung open. Eric raised his weapon, not sure what he should expect. When a human crew disembarked, he sighed with something close to relief. “You ODST’s really are hard core!”  
“Yeah, we owe you guys one!”  
“You’re telling me!” N’golo snapped. “Let’s not waste time here, we need to get back to the wall.”  
“Understood. We can plough through, we just need you to keep the little bastards off us.”  
“We can do that,” Dimitra racked the bolt on her weapon. The others massed with each other, flanking the treads of the tank on either side.   
At first, they remained on their feet, actively engaging anything that came their way. It soon became clear however, as Simon’s rifle clicked empty and N’golo took a brute’s blade to his shoulder. As gushing blood covered his chest and arms, he wrapped his slick limbs around the animal’s neck and held on for dear life. He tried in vain to choke the life from the beast, but it was Eric’s knife, brought down in a brutal overhead thrust, that secured N’golo’s survival. For the three seconds it took before more fire erupted in their direction. “Get to the tank!” N’golo groaned, looking at his shoulder. It wasn’t serious, he didn’t think. It bled profusely and hurt like hell, but he could bandage it soon.   
The rest of the squad pushed close to the tank, gathering in a huddle. Orders had to be shouted over the din. A tremendous, chattering rattle never ceased from the barrel of the tank’s turret. Hundreds of empty brass casings rained down, clattering like discordant music over the bare, scorched rocks half buried in sand. Eric hushed them in their panic, trying to reign in the chaos in his head. Seeing his difficulty, N’golo resumed his command of the battered squad. “We’re not far from the wall now. Once we get there, the tank can provide cover while we re-establish contact with the base HQ. Then, we can reorganise and push them back a little.”  
“Agreed. More than anything, we need breathing room,” Dimitra said.  
“Can we really get a good enough command set up to push them back? We’re in a shit show here,” Simon said depressingly.  
“I don’t know. But it’s our best bet, we’ve got our backs against the wall here and I’m running out of ideas and options.”  
“I’m certain that, should we recover our organisation, we can mobilise an assault such as what you proposed. We have been reinforced, after all,” Dimitra gestured at the tank.  
“You’ve got a point, D. Alright, hop on the tank. Keep your heads down and keep your cool. Fire only when fired upon, we don’t have the ammo for any real trouble. Just keep your cool.” N’golo ordered, sitting on the tread. The others promptly followed and the tank crew set a course for the wall.   
Every few seconds the barrel would light up as a shell tore into a phantom or bulk of covenant. Enroute, N’golo had Dimitra strap a rag of BDU to his shoulder, somewhat ebbing the flow. He hoped that, when they reached it, they could use the wall as a proper command centre. All they needed was to get there. Thankfully, his plan had worked, so far. In the chaos, they were passing by relatively unscathed, as everything found more pressing matters. Even fellow UNSC servicemen didn’t even react to a 66-ton tank rolling by. The others noticed this obliviousness, and Simon almost chuckled at the sheer blindness desperation could cause.  
When they were within a hundred metres of the base, N’golo dismounted and rushed into the horde of terrified soldiers gathered at the doorway of the wall. “Let us in!”   
“Help us!”  
“Hey,” N’golo shouted, “hey! What the hell are you doing?”  
“Trying to get inside, what does it look like?” One of the soldiers said venomously, turning around. As he saw the tank, his eyes widened. “You have a”  
“A tank, yeah,” Eric cut in. “Which you’d have seen, if you were doing your job!”  
“Don’t you say shit about jobs! I know who you are, you’re supposed to be in charge here! Where did you go?”  
“To go get backup, what have you been doing? Except trying to save your own skin?” the question hung in the air, draining the heat even from the mild night. “You don’t seem to have been doing much else. You’re here too.” The soldier spat.  
“To sort a counter-attack!” Simon argued  
“How do I know that’s true?” the second soldier asked  
“Because we heard them say it!” The tank gunner announced  
“You don’t get a say, all cushy and safe in your tank!”  
“Hey, fuck you too, buddy!” By now, a crowd of soldiers from the trenches had turned to look at the ongoing confrontation. “Listen, I’m your commanding officer, and I am ordering you to get back out there, and let me talk to the people in HQ!”  
“Good luck, the base seems like it’s in a worse state than out here.” The second soldier sank back sullenly. “Just shut up and get out of the way,” Eric pushed him aside.   
A second group of soldiers had left the trenches, coming searching for the cause of the commotion. “Hey, what the fuck’s happening?”  
“These guys were going to leave you and get inside the base,” Simon said  
“No no, we asked them to do it,” a soldier said. “We’re running on empty in those trenches, and we need backup or we need to fall back.”  
“Well you’re in luck, because that tank there is here to stay,” N’golo smiled.   
“One tank isn’t going to be enough,” a soldier from the trench group said. “Can’t they head back out with a few guys and round up some more survivors?”  
“Yeah, there has to be more guys in that soup,”  
“No way,” the first soldier who had tried to open the wall cut in. “We need as much force here as we can. There’s no guarantee anyone is alive out there.” Angrily, the gunner said “Sure, no guarantee, but for there to be no survivors? That’s almost impossible!”  
Whilst the others argued the defence strategy, Dimitra overheard Eric’s altercation with the man in HQ manning the gate. The voice sounded like the Insurrectionist leader…Eric roared down the intercom. “Let us in! We’ve got maybe two hundred souls out here in these trenches! We can get them away from the wall if I can just come inside!”  
“Fuck you!” The voice replied, crackling from static. “I let you in, we all die!” Eric continued the argument, pleading for his demands to be met. Meanwhile, the second and third soldiers who had tried themselves to enter the base, conversed sinisterly beside Eric. As Dimitra drew closer, one passed by Eric.  
N’golo whirled around, the discussion abruptly ending as gunshots were heard from Eric’s direction. N’golo passed by the tank’s hull, seeing fully the final situation. Eric was standing alone, two corpses at his feet. He stepped aside, his pistol in hand, still smoking. “Eric, what the fuck?” N’golo cried, painfully aware of his friend’s fraying mental state. “They drew on me first!” Eric pleaded. He holstered the pistol, pointing at the furthest soldier, who he had dispatched last. “His gun is drawn!”  
“He’s right,” Dimitra said. “The first one had his hand on his knife as he approached Eric.” Her heart was pounding, her mind swirling in confusion. A bead of sweat rolled down N’golo’s temple. Eric had been acting crazy for a while, but killing his own men in cold blood? No way. Never. N’golo waved his hand, “Get them out of here, and sort out the boys in the trenches. We’re pushing back out.”  
Before anything could be done, there was more gunfire, and the sound of the tank firing.   
The solid steel wall trembled, a splintering of cracks riddled its surface. Like shattered ice, it groaned as fissures spread. The soldiers arguing fell to their knees, deafened. The tank fired again, pieces of wall flying outward and smashing into the earth. One soldier was buried beneath the rubble. Eric stumbled to his feet, coughing to rid his lungs of the ash surrounding them. He had to dive back to the sandy ground as the tank ploughed forward, smashing into the base of the wall.   
The tirade of noise resumed, overflowing their ears and paralysing them in pain. The screeching steel buckled inwards as the tank pushed through the ash and dust, deep into the wall. It burst through, rushing out like compressed gas into the open valley behind the wall. “Sweet shit, what just happened?” N’golo cried.  
The squad trickled through the gaping hole, tripping over the scattered debris. “We must get clear. This wall is not stable!” Dimitra warned  
“Not yet,” Eric grumbled, “we have to kill that bastard tank crew!” They neared the now motionless tank, rushing to meet the crew. A commotion on the far side drew them near, and they met a shocking sight.  
Simon was dragging the pilot, the first soldier from the wall, not a member of the tank crew, from the cockpit. He threw the man onto the hull, kicking him viciously in the face. The soldier fell back, tumbling over into the dirt. Furious blows smashed into the soldier’s chest and Simon felt a rib break under his tirade. The cries of pain slowed his assault, and he growled in disgust.   
He pulled the man to his feet roughly. Impatiently, he kicked at the soldier’s knees, sending him to the floor before Eric. “We had to get insi-”  
A single round ended the protest. His final sound was a sickening gurgle, which didn’t end for a long time. Even as blood leaked from the hole in his face, he carried on the vomit-inducing noise. Eric spat on the corpse and turned to observe the damage.   
His stomach tucked and darted and rolled. His heart sank. The wall, the precious wall, their last line of defence, was a ruin. He was stunned that it remained standing. “W-we…” his voice cracked and he breathed, trying in vain to calm himself. “We need to form a line inside the wall. So long as we can thin the herd before they reach it, we can funnel them in and keep numbers manageable.”  
“How do we do that?”  
“Someone needs to get up to HQ and explain what the fuck is going on down here. The rest of us need to spread the word, we’re forming a U and we fire on my command.” They looked blankly at him. “What are you waiting for? Clear out!”  
“Eric,” N’golo said softly as the others rushed off. “I’ll go to HQ. They need you down here, and if this situation gets any worse, we’ll all be dead come morning.”  
“We won’t make it to morning. But you’re right. I need you up there. Go,” Eric motioned for him to hurry.  
N’golo was already half way to HQ when he was tackled. Gunfire erupted across the avenue, sending the soldiers ducking for cover. The insurrectionist bent double over N’golo snarled, then cried out as the mountain of a man unleashed his furious blows.   
The first punches went to the face, the others the insurrectionist’s core. He fell back, bleeding, grasping at the cobbles to escape. N’golo gripped the crawling man’s head, hammering it off of the stone until it more resembled a mashed beetroot.   
Eric and the others managed to subdue the few other rebels, ending the brief assault. “This is all we need!” A marine exclaimed  
“Look at what you’ve done,” one pointed at Eric accusingly.   
“Shut it,” Eric snapped. He ran his hand over his head in shocked thought. “Bring the surrendered ones here.”   
The bitter rebels were thrown down before Eric. “What the fuck are you playing at?” He roared.   
The leader smiled. “Anything to get you tyrannical bastards killed.”   
Simon chuckled in disbelief. He looked at Dimitra for support. He tilted his head, puzzled, at her wide eyes. “What’s the matter?”   
A rebel slipped Simon’s pistol from its holster and swept the weapon across the soldiers. Holding Simon in a vice-like grip, he snarled demands. “Let us go free, we’ll not bother you no more.”   
The soldier’s weapons were raised, they looked to Eric for orders. They didn’t have to ask. Eric’s pistol fired a single shot. The rebel’s head snapped back, spraying a ruby red shower of blood. “Fuck!” Simon fell forward, panting in abject terror.   
Before anyone could react, Eric fired again. This time, the kneeling prisoners flinched as one of their own fell forward. A scarlet puddle slowly formed below his fallen corpse. “Kill the prisoners. Kill any you find.” Eric turned to N’golo. “When you get up there, get the word out.”   
N’golo nodded. “With pleasure.”  
The first shots rang out amongst the dull rumble of plasma fire. The prisonrs didn’t have chance to cry out. Simon shuddered. His pistol trembled in his grip. He tightened his finger to the trigger, letting off a round. His pistol didn’t shake after that. He knew he’d remember the sounds of that day. Surrender was no longer acceptable. Neither was mercy. They ceased to exist. All they had were orders. “Kill them all.”  
Nobody disobeyed.   
Nobody tried to stop them.   
Nobody argued.  
Not a word.  
Eric had left them to it, hoping to organise a better defence. Poor news greeted him. “The trenches are overrun! The line broke!” An exhausted soldier ran for him, shouting like a madman. Eric looked at him in abject terror. “They what?”  
“The line broke. Everyone got distracted by the wall falling! They bolted or got shot in the back or ran for safety. Point is, the covenant is going to be through that door in maybe a minute’s time!”  
“Shit,” Eric moaned. He connected his radio and hailed N’golo. “get up those stairs as soon as you can. The line in the trenches broke and the covenant are coming.”  
“Understood,” N’golo sounded out of breath and Eric could hear his crashing footfalls on the metal stairway. “You do what you can from down there, I’ll work on getting the message through.”  
Eric sighed and leapt atop a ruined truck. “Everyone! Soldiers!” He fired three shots into the air. They glanced at him in fear. “The line has broken and we’re going to be up to our necks in covenant VERY soon. I need you to form up on me and fire on my command!” He began pointing for the line to be drawn.   
They stacked all the sandbags they could find. Moved cars, shifted crates, tore off doors. Anything they could use for cover, they did. Anything they could put between themselves and the covenant, they used. It wasn’t much. Far from a noble barricade of revolution, they sat atop a miserable mockery that wouldn’t stop an insect. “Raise your weapons!” Eric ordered.  
The coordinated clack of metal was satisfying and comforting at once.  
“Aim!”  
The soldiers held steady. Breaths grew quiet, aim was focused. Nobody dared move. Rustling came from outside the wall. Simon tremble in anticipation. Dimitra, who had only a pistol to her name, placed a reassuring hand upon his shoulder.   
Inside the wall, hell had broken loose. Corpses of rioting insurrectionists were left where they had been slain. Glass was shattered, casings were all over the floor and consoles were sparking from damage. N’golo stepped over a still bleeding corpse. “Who’s in charge here?” He received no reply, so repeated louder he said “I need to speak to who’s in charge!”  
“There’s no one in charge!”  
“For fucks sake!” N’golo thought for a second. “Where’s the intercom?”  
“Here,” an officer pointed, then running for the exit.   
N’golo scoffed in disgust, removing his helmet to be heard more clearly. He pressed the button and spoke clearly into the microphone. “Attention, all personnel. The wall has been compromised. Make your way to the central street and reinforce the soldiers already there. I repeat, the wall is compromised. Return to the central street and reinforce.” He looked for a loop function and soon found it. He added quickly “HQ is unstable. Do not expect any more orders, just get to the main street.”  
“Fire!” Eric roared. The rifles erupted into action, spewing lead and orange jets of flame down the range into the pulsing mass of covenant. The first line crumpled like paper, blocking the access. Already, the seemingly impenetrable wall of covenant had been forced into a bottleneck. “Aim!” Seconds more passed and the wall began to fill. “Fire!” Eric ordered.   
This continued for some time, until a rustling behind distracted him. Dimitra was there, weapon in hand. “Eric! We’ve got some reinforcements!”  
“From where?”  
“Deeper in the complex! What should we do with them?”  
“Spread word that they need to fill the line!” Eric looked back to the wall. It was overflowing with covenant. “Fire!”   
The covenant again fell, torn to shreds from the overpowering wall of fire. Eric tapped a soldier beside him. “Take over that for me,”   
“Sure thing,”  
“You were saying, Dimitra?”   
“Troops from deeper in the base are here. N’golo’s plan worked at least,” she sounded elated. Eric nodded. “If we get them to fill the line four deep, have the others spread through and take up sniper positions on the rooftops.”  
“Yes, of course. What are you going to do?”  
“I need to get to higher ground, see what other options we have.”  
Eric dashed out from the barricade, running parallel to the firing line. As he ducked behind a pillar, he felt the brickwork begin to melt as plasma burned into it. With his options limited, he looked for an escape. Under the canopy, an iron grate covered a store front. It was half open, and the interior was black as night. He’d have to lose them in there.   
He rolled under the grate, yanking it down as soon as he passed the threshold. With as much haste as he could muster, he leapt over the counter and looked for something to aid his mission. To his left, buried under a mountain of trash and waste, was a door. “Dimitra, I need you to get the barricade to keep up a barrage. I’m pinned here!”  
“Understood!” She panted, launching a kick at a jackal clambering the barricade towards her. “Fire at will!”   
Eric rushed to the doorway, his strained breathing masked by the explosive rattle outside. He struggled to remove as much debris as he could, but as the gunfire died down and he saw plasma draw nearer to him, he settled for a couple of inches and pulled the door as wide as it would go. He desperately tried to squeeze through the gap, but a wild bolt of plasma bit into his shoulder. It pushed him through the door, but left him sprawled in the dirt, tears of pain blurring his sight.   
A few minutes later, he managed to compose himself, pulling himself to his feet. Weakly, he stumbled through the backstreet, finding a fire escape leading to the roof. Pushing through the pain in his scored shoulder, he set about clambering the brittle metal frame. Soon enough, he had arrived on the dusty rooftop. The battlefield, a single plaza, was laid out before him. It didn’t look good.   
The great steel wall boxing the mouth of the valley was cracked. Great tears ran down the length and width, widening each passing second. Eric was unsure how long it would hold. Other, more pressing matters were also at hand. The barricade was starting to fail. The solid cover was melting into liquid from the deluge of superhot plasma. Corpses lined the street, human and covenant alike. He wondered if it was even possible to reclaim lost ground.   
As he sat there, watching, firing carefully into the spewing mass, he began to formulate a plan. His original decision to hold their ground was insufficient. Try as they might, they couldn’t replace the losses like the covenant could. He saw the right flank cut inwards, and a realisation slapped him in the face. They could counter attack! A proper counter offensive could startle the covenant enough to make them think twice about their tactics. All he had to do was contact N’golo and organise it.   
Unfortunately, as the idea touched his brain, he saw HQ, a glass bubble halfway up the wall with a view over both sides, explode in a flurry of gunfire. Not plasma, but gunfire. A soldier, backed against the glass, erupted into spasming tremors as blood sprayed from his back against the glass. It shattered from the force, sending the ruined cadaver tumbling down into the covenant below. “Sons of bitches!”  
Below in the carnage, Dimitra was pushed back. Her section of the line was cut into and encircled. The covenant rushed past, pouring deep into the base. A pair of covenant banshees passed by. Their death wail was accompanied by a globule of volatile explosive. One shattered a fountain in the street, ringing water and rubble over their heads. The other set a terrace on the left side of the valley ablaze.   
From the fires, a voice cried out. It was coming from the vehicle depot, which was a flaming wreck. Dimitra looked to see a scorched arm poking through the wall, clawing at the sand. Screams perforated her ears, until the roof crackled and collapsed. Then all the screams stopped.   
A rush of plasma fire broke her from this trance, the tirade erupting from a huddle of perhaps fifty Grunts waddling through the hole in the wall. The scorpion, which was to blame for their entryway, was buried in a mess hall, the turret facing back at the wall. It fired twice, dropping debris onto the marching force. It was overrun and disabled by the sheer force of the aliens clawing and firing on its hull. Before it could reload and fire again, the smaller covenant units, including a drone swarm, lit the tank up with flurries of fire. The stored shells must have ruptured, for the body exploded, sending the turret off the body in a soul crushing crash. It arced through the air, landing at Gretel’s feet.   
Gretel had witnessed everything, starting with the falling soldier. Her desire to fight had overridden her weakness, and she had left the hospital without even gearing up. Snatching a half empty SMG from a dead marine, she rushed down the cobbled road for the heart of the conflict. When the tank exploded, she stumbled back in confusion. Simon pulled her away from her doom, towards the fountain in the square, where the shattered line had rushed to and had hunkered down.  
Eric meanwhile, dropped from the roof into the mess of battle. He had to reach N’golo, save N’golo, and the only way was to enter the wall; via the covenant army. He was banking on going unnoticed, and he stayed as low as possible, crawling over the writhing dead to reach his destination. When he neared the causeway up to the wall, a pair of soldiers came rolling down the stairs in a heap. As they clattered onto the cobbles, one gained the upper hand, pummelling the bottom soldier with his own helmet. “And. Stay. Down.” The soldier on top spoke in rhythm with his blows.   
“N’golo!” Eric whispered. The soldier looked at him with wild eyes, then mellowed as he saw his friend. “Eric!”  
“Shut up, get down and follow me! We’re in deep shit and we need to move!”  
“I got it. Let’s go.” N’golo lowered himself, and they crawled across the shambling corpses, desperately heading for the rapidly crumbling UNSC line.


	14. We're Not Going Anywhere

The marines in the broken fountain shuddered in the filthy, ankle deep water. The crumbling concrete was rapidly failing under the unending barrage of plasma fire. The weary soldiers fired back, but it felt useless. As explosions rained fire and fury and shrapnel across the street, many had given up.   
Not N’golo and Eric. They were nearing the front of the covenant line, which moved forward at a steady pace. “What’s the plan?” N’golo asked.  
“We need some sort of distraction, then we make a break for it.”  
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”  
“And you have something better?”  
“Alright, fair enough,” N’golo relented. “Just forgive me if I’m not very cordial.”   
Eric shuffled forward, feeling for something to aid them. His fingers brushed a bloody face, the skin melted away around the jaw, and his hand flinched back in reflexive disgust. His elbow tugged on a grenade belt, and his grim smile returned. “N’golo, move out on me.”  
“Alright Eric, but whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast…” N’golo’s body, still as that of those around him, touched by death, was dangerously close to the shuddering feet of the charging covenant forces.   
Eric emptied his lungs, hoping to calm his shaking fingers. They locked around the steel pin and he tugged. Like a rocket, he jumped up and ran. His footfalls were dulled by the explosive roar of fury behind him. That roar was drowned out by the catastrophic eruption of fire and debris. He ran, wild as a spooked hare, songs of death flying past him, echoing from the walls and rising, silent, into the sky.   
He neared the fountain, clearing the rim in a wild leap. As he landed, he rolled and kept as low as he could. Another explosion, softer than that he caused, sent rubble and limbs in a bloody arc over his head. Another body, living this time, flew over him. N’golo landed in a heap, crying out in pain as he smashed into the concrete. “Fucking hell!”  
“Get up! Get up N’golo! We need to hold them, we need to…” Eric felt woozy, his stinging eyes streamed with tears. As his inside writhed with burning fire, he tore off his helmet, vomiting an orange stream into the grey, claggy water. “Jesus, Eric are you-”“I’m fine. Get your gun, keep firing,” he paused for breath, spitting away more sickly fluid. His eyes were beginning to clear and he saw the blurred, muddy faces of terrified soldiers. Terrified kids. Many hardly looked to have reached their twenties. Christ. None of them would make it out of this.   
Simon was one of those bloody, scared kids. He tried to bury his absolute terror, but it was rapidly failing. “N’golo, am I glad to see you!” Finally. Responsibility to someone else. A real soldier. “Simon, raise your rifle and fire!”  
“I’m trying, but if I put my head over that wall, they’ll take it off!”  
“Then lose your head! Just slow them down!”  
“N’golo!” Gretel looked horrified.  
“Gretel! You fire too! We have to slow them down!”  
“I know that, but we can’t just let them all die!”  
“They knew what they signed up for, now fire our weapon!”  
A successive burst exploded from the fountain. A cluster of jackals fell to the floor. “Eric, we need something, anything. What do you got?” N’golo asked  
“Just keep firing! We can’t let them get any further!”  
“They’re going to overrun us!” A soldier cried  
“Not if you keep shooting!” Simon spat. His own rifle was running dangerously low on rounds. He was running dangerously low on energy. It was exhausting even keeping his eyes open. Eric ducked down to reload and N’golo joined him. “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”  
“We have to,”  
“Surely we can fall back a bit?”  
“Any ground they take just spurs them on. Any we lose breaks our lads down that little bit more,”  
“We are going to die here!” Another marine declared. Eric shot him a look of pure venom. “They will not crush us. Now get back out there and shoot!”  
The soldier swore foully, but obeyed. As his head popped out of the fountain, it was destroyed by a flash of purple plasma. Eric’s eyes widened and he let out a shocked cry. “They are getting closer!” Dimitra announced  
“We know!” Eric shot back, looking to N’golo. “What do we do?”  
“Just keep shooting. Communication has broken down. For all we know, we’re all that’s left.”  
“Then we’re not going anywhere. We need to rally the people here.”  
“We’re about to die, we can’t go making speeches,” N’golo said.  
“We must slow them down,” Gretel insisted. She slipped the magazine from her pistol and cursed as she realised she had no replacement. “How do we do that? We’re pinned down here and have nothing to cut them off with,” Eric grumbled. As he said it, a light seemed to erupt from Dimitra and she buzzed with excitement. “The wall. The wall!” She scrambled around the fountain and drew out a clump of explosives.   
“The sappers were going to blow those buildings to our right, channel them deeper into the base, but we got stuck here before they could.”  
“We could use those on the wall,” Simon caught on to her plan. “Stem the flow and maybe clear the base. After that, I don’t know. But at least we’d be alive. Some of us, at least.”  
“He’s right,” N’golo said. “Bringing down the wall would slow them down. At the very least, it would crush a whole bunch of them.”  
“Alright, but how are we going to get up there?” Eric asked  
“Yeah, in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a god damn army between us and the wall. And they’re getting closer!” A marine cried.  
“Shit. Maybe we can go through the buildings? Keep off the streets?” Eric suggested  
“Could work. So long as we had others to run interference and keep the covenant off the sapper,” N’golo said  
“Good. We’ll go through that garage to the left and work our way from there,” Eric pointed to the half-closed shutter on the building’s front.   
He took the explosives from Dimitra, but a soldier pulled Eric’s arm from the detonator. “You can’t go,” she insisted  
“Why not?”  
“The others need you here. Besides, not all the sappers died, they’ll know where to put the explosives.”   
Eric’s eyes darkened, and he thought deeply. It was a suicide mission, and he couldn’t put his team through that. The soldier seemed ready for the reality of the mission, whereas he was unsure how his own soldiers would take the news… “Alright fine. Take the explosives and hurry back, we can’t afford to lose anyone else.”  
“Understood sir,” she whistled at her comrades. “Dan, Nguyen, with me.”  
“On it,” Nguyen tapped Dan, who flinched in terror.   
“Is he fit for this?” N’golo asked, placing a reassuring hand on the shell-shocked soldier. “Someone else needs to go with them, he stays here.” N’golo ground his foot into the detritus to emphasise his point.   
All were silent at the suggestion someone else go. They had dodged a metaphorical bullet, but now one other would have to step into the firing line. Nobody dared breathe, except the female soldier who had suggested it in the first place. “Leave him here, we’ll get it done. Just the pair of us.”   
“Now there is really no need!” Gretel said, exasperated. N’golo quieted her.   
“Just don’t play a hero, you two.” You already are, he chose not to add. They diligently stood and saluted, Nguyen ducking in fear as a needle missed him by an inch. “It’s a one-way trip” Simon warned. The marines simply gritted his teeth and the female said “We die for something.”  
“Wait,” N’golo stopped her. “What’s your name?”   
“Tasha,” she said.   
“You’re brave people, Tasha, Nguyen. Come back safe.”  
The pair of amateur demolitionists leapt over the fountain wall and ran wildly to the hardware storefront. A grenade landed in the fountain and Dan crawled atop it. They heard it sear onto his flesh, the growing pitch straining their ears. A vivid lilac explosion sent Dan into the sky. The top of the fountain exploded from the force as he was flung through it. What remained of the marine’s body began to stain the water ruby red. Simon and other marines retched, but only bile came up.   
Simon returned to his feet, and the battle had turned in matter of seconds. Smoke rolled in with the bustling, growing wind. Phantoms passed overhead, the downward force of their repulsors fanning the orange flames scattered across the rooftops. Fires had started, and soon would engulf the entire compound. Having fully recovered from the stunning explosion, with his helmet in his off hand, Simon handed a marine a pistol, shouting over the ringing in his ears “Go! Run! Make a break for it!” The soldier nodded, her eyes wide with fear. His chest pounded. When she looked for a route to run down, she turned from Simon. As she took a step, a needle splattered through her head. What was left of her skull detonated in a pink cloud maybe two inches from Simon’s face. He was blindsided by the pink shards.  
Screaming, he put a hand to his face. He started to cry when it came away bloody. Except the blood was full of crusty pink shards. Filled with remorse, he glanced down at the dead marine, her friend charging out into the battle towards the wall. Simon fainted, tears and fluid pouring down his left cheek, running over the pockmarked holes. His half-destroyed face oozed an acrid mix of alien explosive and blood.   
Eric saw Simon get hit and seconds later saw him go down. Time slowed for him, irrational fury boiling over. He shook with hate and anger, pushing aside the scattered soldiers to aid his fallen comrade. Another needle buried into the concrete behind Eric’s head. He followed the vapour trail and saw a skirmisher brandishing a needle rifle. It took aim once more, but it fell down dead as it squeezed the trigger. Eric looked down to see Simon, holding Eric’s M6D. “I always got your back sarge.” He said weakly. His eyelids, feeling heavy as cement, fell shut. Eric picked up Simon’s blood-stained helmet, with its broken visor and rough grain of needle shards and planted it on Simon’s ravaged head. “Eric, we can’t stay here!” Gretel cried, firing her last bullets from her SOCOM.   
“I know!” He replied, tapping Simon’s helmet. “Wake up son, come on. Stay with me.” He took his M6D from the ground, putting it in Simon’s hand again. He clasped the bloody fingers around the trigger. “Cover me, son. I need you to cover me. Can you do that? Do you have my back?”  
“Like I said,” Simon coughed, “always.”   
Eric smiled sadly, beginning to drag to drag the bleeding man over the rough, sandy cobbles towards a factory. The few soldiers left from the fountain held the covenant back as Eric continued to drag Simon. “Get to the factory, we can hold them back from there!”   
An explosion erupted, the upper reaches of the fireball climbing over the buildings on the other side of the street. As the ashy mist descended, it scalded the cold midnight air. Smoke, ash and steam masked everything, sticking the claggy sand to their flesh and clothing. “What went up?” A marine called out in fear  
“Gas tank, maybe?”  
“No way, there’d be no base!”  
“Forget about it! We’re not dead, so keep firing!”  
More rifles chattered, many sounding the dreaded click. That sound signalled the empty chamber’s. Their death sentence. Hollow cries for ammo masked the secret feeling they all tried in vain to hide. Terror. They were afraid, and with good reason. The rampant, marauding horde of aliens was descending, drawing nearer each passing moment. Flee as they might, soon enough their backs would reach the wall, and they would fall against it.  
Eric passed through the door of the factory, pulling Simon aside from the entryway. “Get him some help!” Eric ordered, not spending a second to ensure it was obeyed. Instead, he returned to the doorway, holding back the horde with the others.  
Through his sole functional eye, Simon knew he was dying. Tears brimmed in his eye, running down a face that could no longer feel them. He only knew he was crying from the salty taste in his mouth. The tears gushed down a face too numb to feel them. A shaking arm clutched a pistol, a broken finger pulled on the trigger. Ringing ears detected the thud of shots.   
A brute leapt into the fountain. Its spiker sent red hot lead into three wounded soldiers, sprawled in the fountain. They died silently, unaware they had expired. Simon managed one shot at the brute before his fingers loosened on the pistol. Both it and his arm smashed into the floor. He was faintly aware of being lifted further into a building, then laid to rest. Dimitra tugged out a roll of bandages. He didn’t see them having much use.  
Eric yanked down the shutter on the door and retreated into the factory further. “Get up on the catwalk and give them all you’ve got,” he said to the scattered soldiers. Some obeyed, others ignored him. He didn’t care. How could he? This was over. There was a makeshift medical centre assembled. Makeshift was the word to describe it. A lone soldier, with a red cross armband hurriedly pounded on the chest of a still soldier. Behind him, a procession of similar soldiers in differing stages of undying.   
Gretel approached, gently moving the doctor away. “He is gone. You did all you could.”  
The doctor flinched at her touch, moaning and trying to return to the dead soldier. “Shh. He is dead. You are ok, you will be alright.” Her heart ached to lie to him like this, but she had no other choice. All around were broken people. N’golo lead the doctor away to a corner, where others were waiting for death. Some were moaning in physical agony, bleeding or nursing broken bones. Others were sat in silence, utterly broken. Another cradled a book. Eric was unsure if it was a Bible or some other holy book, but the soldier was preaching to two other soldiers all the same. Another rubbed half a crucifix, chanting the Lord’s prayer. Two others sat opposite one another.   
One was stroking a revolver, pointing it at himself, his friend, the door, the marines, everywhere. His friend was tearfully trying to talk him down when Eric strode over, taking the weapon and slapping the soldier once, hard. His trance seemed to break a little and he responded when spoken to. “Who’s the leader here?”  
“I am,” the doctor Gretel had saved replied. He tenderly raised a hand. “Corporal White”  
“Understood. Corporal, I’m assuming command here. I’m Sergeant Stevens but, under the circumstances, call me Eric.”  
“Eric, got it. Call me Chalky, everyone does.”  
“White, Chalky. Got it.”  
Eric saw to it that Simon was given the attention he required, whilst the others got to work reinforcing the position. The windows were shuttered, except the upper, as they were occupied as firing positions. Four troopers were holding the doors and the others were assisting in medical needs or ferrying the few supplies to and from the troops. Dimitra pulled Eric aside, speaking in hushed tones. “Sir, with all due respect, we should flee. We failed to stem the flow, and we have been unable to force a retreat.”  
“Where would we go? We’re in a canyon full of covenant. Not to mention, our only door leads to a street full of the bastards. In case you hadn’t noticed, we haven’t got much choice.”  
“There’s always a choice,” she said, walking away. Eric shuddered and picked up a discarded SMG. It had thirty bullets remaining. Not enough for a single brute.  
Briefly, there seemed a lull in the fighting. Eric had fallen back after holding the doorway for a solid ten minutes. He tossed his helmet aside and lit a cigar, breathing deeply. “Can you not?” Gretel asked.   
Glassy eyes under dark eyebrows opened and hardened. “I think I’m allowed a break, Gretel.”  
“I never said that, just not here,” she motioned at the dead and dying people. “You’ve started smoking more.”  
“Can you blame me?”  
“Not really,” she admitted. “Still. We can’t lose hope.”  
“You’re talking as if it hasn’t already happened.”  
“Maybe it has for you, but I am ready to do anything for these people.”  
“You think I’m not?”   
Eric tossed aside his cigar. “I’ve given all I have for the forces.”  
“That’s not necessarily true.”  
“Watch yourself, Gretel…” Eric’s face grew harder. His eyes darkened and he remembered many of the faces he had seen, most belonging to corpses now.   
“I didn’t mean any insult, but you had something to go back to. Perhaps not now, but you had time out. You could have left the force if you wished.”  
“That’s all gone now,” he snapped angrily.  
“Maybe. But at least it existed. I have nothing, Eric. Nobody. No husband or wife to go back to. No children. No real home, not really. I have given everything for the forces.”  
“I know that,” he felt himself tremble from the misery in her voice.  
“No, you don’t. You know loss. Maybe that’s worse. I don’t know. But you can smile at what existed, I cannot smile for what never was there. But these people, the kids…”  
Gretel looked to the two newest recruits. One, so wounded he could not feel his own limbs. The other consumed with fiery passion, cutting away at the horde coming for them. “They have a future. At least, they could have a future. We can’t let our cynicism, our age, snuff out their future.”   
Eric started to respond, but was cut off by terrible noise.   
The building shook violently, dislodging dust and parts of the roof. The haze of ash that hung over the canyon began seeping in. Eric coughed and sputtered, searching wildly for a weapon. “Gretel, keep them safe!”   
He headed back to the front door, stumbling to the overturned desk arranged for cover. The door almost buckled from the plasma slamming away at it. “Someone, anyone, go upstairs! Up the catwalk, hold them off. We can’t let them drop in behind us.”   
Three soldiers rushed away, their feet clanging on the rusted iron steps. Dimitra looked to follow, but N’golo held her back. She looked at him for an explanation, but he simply shook his head.   
Eric felt their will wavering. “Hold steady, everyone. Steady. We’re not going anywhere. We’re holding this line. When the morning comes, and it will come, we’ll still be here. We’ll be here and they’ll find only burned corpses of those who tried to challenge us. This is our final moment, our finest hour!”


	15. Exodus

The doors collapsed inward and the covenant rushed inside. The first brute to pass the threshold was cut down in seconds. “Focus fire!” A second brute similarly fell. When a trio of elites followed, flanked by a pair of jackals, fire went wild. “Burst! Short, controlled bursts!” The jackals fell first, and someone cried out in triumph. Wherever the voice came from, it fell silent a moment later. Plasma turned the doorway into a lightshow of death.   
When the third elite was dead on the floor, a soldier tried to close the doors again. She failed and fell for her efforts. Angered by the senseless, aimless killing, a group of marines shot up to counter attack. “No!” Dimitra cried, watching them charging and dying in the open. They were immediately cut in half by plasma fire. Their poor charge failed to affect the covenant, who doubled their efforts. The first few through the door were killed, but soon the UNSC line began to break. A wraith outside fired on the factory, the blue plasma mortar landing true multiple times. The booming explosions shook their bones and loosened the concrete. It rained down, some fine as sand, others chunks the size of a table.  
Two marines were vaporized by the horrific explosion, steaming red blood splattering the cracked plaster. N’golo coughed heavily, dislodging a fragment of bloody, razor sharp glass from a downed woman’s thigh. He felt the voracious edge rip agonizingly through her tortured tendons, leaving a filthy, uneven hole. Her dull moans were nothing to N’golo. His shaking hands were nothing. The thundering blows of Covenant fire was nothing.   
It was only when the floor rumbled as if a dragon had awoken did he stir. Fire and death awaited him if he remained there. The woman he had tried so hard to save took a final breath, not even throwing out an arm to save herself when the floor she was laying on fell in on itself, the very air around burning. N’golo leapt from the upraised concrete he was now situated on onto a brute captain, sending it to the floor. He grabbed its spiker, slashing the rising ape’s knees in one fluid movement, eviscerating its skull with the pair of wicked sharp scythes, sloshing slimy gristle down his arms.   
N’golo didn’t have time to catch his breath. Ignoring the shooting pain in his ankles, he stumbled forward, following the panicked soldiers. He collapsed behind a fallen catwalk, pushing himself to stand. Eric passed by, turning instantly as he heard a pained moan. “Eric, come back!”  
“Eric, I found a way out!” Dimitra announced.   
Eric was caught in the middle. N’golo, bleeding and collapsed from exhaustion. Or safe exit…He didn’t even consider another option. He threw down his rifle and gripped N’golo by the scruff of his neck. “Let’s go,” he grunted, hobbling under the immense weight of his hardly conscious friend. The flames that billowed outside grew in their intensity. The ash that had coated everything grew into a fog of war. Pushing through the soupy air drained Eric. He didn’t hear the insect-like wings droning behind him. He only felt the razor-sharp claws run down his back, tearing open his flesh and catching on the bone.  
He fell to the floor and cried out in hot agony. He jabbed and kicked, throwing wild punches and elbows. His rough blows landed on the brittle chitin, and it caved in under his weight. “N’golo?” He looked around, drunk from the pain. “N’golo!”   
His heart pounded, heavier than ever. He’d lost him, he’d lost him and Simon and Dimitra and Gretel. Just like he’d lost everyone. Gretel had been right. He had nothing to lose, but they did. He had to do something, anything. “Eric!”   
Dimitra called out to the bloody shell of a sergeant, stumbling slowly around the floor. “Eric, look! Get over here!” She held down her arm, tapping the wall. It felt like goading a startled animal closer. “Come on, closer!”   
Eric finally, triumphantly reached the wall. His arm shot up, clutching Dimitra’s frail limb like a lifeline. It was, in a sense. Gretel joined them, pulling Eric up and out of the hole and into the fresh air.   
Fresh was giving it too much credit. The air was rank with death. Not decay, not yet. But death nonetheless. Corpses littered the sandy, ashen streets. Their scent hung, heavy in their noses. The night was still, a thick mass of ash akin to fog settling over the canyon. Like mustard gas, it sank over the lip of the canyon, bringing further despair to their exodus.   
N’golo had processed all of this during his short time on the roof. He flinched back into motion when Eric was pulled through the hole. Dimitra’s exit was a small hole that lead out onto the rooftops. The sheet metal was buckling under their collective weight. Eric sympathised with it. His nose curled as the sickeningly fresh wounds on Simon’s face wept. Pink, acidic pus ran down his boyish cheeks. Only they were boyish no more. Lined with pain and experience, all fat stripped away and replaced with toned muscle. How could a face change so soon, so drastically?  
“Can any of you walk?” Eric asked, trying to ignore the pained screams inside the factory.   
“I can,” Dimitra said. Gretel nodded too, and Eric wiped sweat from his face.  
“Alright, you two take Simon, N’golo you’re with me. We need to get down to ground level and get out of here.”  
“What happened to not going anywhere?” N’golo asked sardonically.   
Eric ignored him, slinging the wounded man’s arm over his shoulder. “Ready to move?”  
The others nodded. “After you,” Gretel motioned.   
“Of course,” Eric dropped over the lip of the roof.  
He landed on his feet then slipped onto his back, his fingers sinking into a sticky, thick substance. He looked around and saw they had fallen into the waste gutter. “Our fucking luck,” he swore, standing up. Gretel was shaking, trying to keep herself steady enough to support Simon, who was finally conscious. “Here, let me help” Dimitra said, taking the wounded man’s other arm and holding him as he remained upright, for the very least. “What now?” N’golo asked  
“I don’t know,” Eric admitted  
“Well that’s fucking wonderful,”  
“Don’t be like that. We’re alive.”  
“Because of her!” He pointed at Dimitra, who shrank down in worry.   
Eric scoffed and prepared a retort when Gretel cut in “Keep your voices down!” She hissed “We can’t sneak away with you two arguing like children! N’golo is right, we have no plan. But Eric is also correct; we are alive. Not the most astute observation, but accurate. We will not remain so if we continue to debate in this gutter.”  
“Thank you. Now follow me and keep close.”   
The gutter was made of bleak grey concrete, stained brown and green from the horrific substances passed through it each day. On either side of the trench, which was like a half pipe, only stained in excrement, were ovular drains, trickling greywater down, pooling around their ankles. It stuck to their shoes like glue, pulling them deep into the ground. They all just tried not to think about what they were walking in. Simon was able to stumble along, supported by N’golo, who’s ankles had stopped throbbing. “Get down,” Eric whispered, ducking behind a burned-out warthog, half buried in sludge. On the bridge above them, a trio of ghosts escorted a lumbering shadow. From the belly of its gently humming cargo bay, cries and moans of human prisoners could just be made out in the now mostly silent night.   
As it finally passed, Eric let out a pent-up breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He quickly looked into the Warthog. His eyes set on the charred skull of a marine he didn’t care to try and identify. He snatched the still warm dog tags from his neck, taking flakes of blackened skin with them. Working his way to the driver’s side, Eric noted a marine flung half through the windshield, similarly desiccated. In his holster, a fully loaded M6C sidearm was left untouched, alongside a single grenade. The barrel of a battle rifle poked out of the muck and Eric yanked it out. It was almost empty, three bursts left. Eric tossed it to the unarmed Dimitra, running her fingers over the filthy weapon.   
Eric passed the pistol to Simon and said “We’ve been in this trench too long. We need to get out of this canyon and get back to the frigate. They can nuke this place from orbit.”  
“We can’t stay in this shit tube all day,” N’golo said. “We have to go over the top.”  
“I agree, if we can escape the ‘shit tube’ we should be able to conjure up a route out of the canyon,” Gretel said.  
“How do you suppose we get out of a canyon the covenant owns? We can’t exactly go out the way we came in,” Eric replied.  
“We climb?” Dimitra said hopefully.  
N’golo shook his head. “With Simon? I don’t think he can even walk, never mind climb.”   
“Any other bright ideas?” Eric asked, utterly stumped. They stood there in the fading darkness, racking their brains. The growing silence was shattered by Simon’s croak of “Ladder.”  
The discourse was interrupted by a grating cry resonating over the buildings they had just passed through. It was unnatural; eerie and pained. N’golo walked in the direction it came from when Eric hissed “What are you doing?”   
“Yes, what are you doing?” Dimitra asked  
“Going to save those people!” N’golo scrunched his face in utter confusion. What did they mean, what are you doing? Eric was at a loss. “Save them from the covenant, alone, bare handed? If they’re screaming like that, they’re already be dead, and you’ll be next!” He paused, saddened. “I’ve lost enough friends, N’golo. Don’t be the next.”  
“They’re already dead,” Dimitra reasoned, but N’golo had none of it. He scowled and gritted his teeth “Dead people don’t scream.”  
“Fuck it! Fine, Gretel, you stay here and look after Simon. Dimitra, we’ll go with N’golo and help these people.” Or more likely, die trying. Gretel remained silent, but Eric knew she was bubbling with indignant rage. The pair walked away and Eric went up close to Gretel, passing her his sidearm. She gripped it tightly and he whispered “Good luck.”   
When he turned his back, she slid out the magazine and saw two bullets staring back at her. Instinctively, her eyes fell on Simon. Bleeding, his pained scowl filling her with sorrow. Gretel grazed her thumb over slide release, stopping only when she heard the click. Her senses returned to her and she holstered the gun, horrified at her willingness to consider such an option.  
Eric and Dimitra stacked up on the door. N’golo grunted, lifting his leg to kick down the door. “Wait, no,” Eric held out an arm as N’golo’s weighty black boot smashed the thin chain link open and the rusted door swung inward. It crashed against the steel wall, the metallic ringing persisting afterward. “What is wrong with you?” Eric asked  
“People are dying in there,”  
“We’ll be dying out here if you keep making a racket!”  
“At least we’d have tried,” N’golo shrugged him off, slipping inside the inky black room. His feet stuck to the floor with a blood curdling squelch. N’golo didn’t think about what he was stepping in. A low moan drew them to a meat locker.  
When the trio had regrouped outside, Eric whispered “Ideas?”  
“I’ll go in” N’golo rose. His feet were surprisingly quiet on the metal floor. He bumped into a low hanging pig, still dripping blood. The moan started again and N’golo finally found its source. An eviscerated woman, leant up against a wall. A trashed sandbag wall lay between them. A dismounted, empty machine gun in a sea of shell casings was directly in front of her. As he approached, she coughed up a pitiful amount of thin blood. Much more was pouring from the wound in her chest.   
N’golo realized she wasn’t sat, she was pinned to the wall. Six spikes were in a line along the wall, half buried. His gut sank when he saw the rest. Three were half buried in the woman. “Hey, hey,” N’golo slapped her cheek softly. “Wake up.”  
Her eyes fluttered, briefly opening, before she slipped back into her slumber. After a few seconds, she opened them and, hardly audible, spoke. “G-get out,”  
“You’re coming with me.”  
“Spooks. They, they went, went out…b-back,”  
N’golo sank back, pondering why the door had been chained up. Selfish bastards. “Where were they going?”  
“Up. Knew a, a p-passage. Bear right…” Her chin lolled and she fell silent. N’golo brushed her eyelids shut and pocketed her dog tags. His eyes had grown used to the murk and he now saw three more soldiers. Blood pooled around the cold, lifeless corpses. Iced eyes and shocked expressions followed N’golo as he continued to scavenge the ammunition, weapons and tags of the troops. His mind raced with ideas of what could have been while he dug through the bodies of these people. The words ‘Grave robber’ came to mind. He walked out, passing weapons to the pair outside.  
Dimitra said impatiently “Well?”  
“Four. Army. Dead.”  
“I’m sorry, mate. There’s nothing could be done.” Eric held his tongue, seeing the pain in N’golo’s face. “Aside from guns, was there anything else?”   
“A way out, but wait until we get back. It’ll save explaining twice.”  
Inside a minute, they were back with Simon and Gretel. Thankfully they were still breathing. “Get up, we’re leaving.” N’golo slid a weapon to each of the soldiers. Gretel was cradling Simon on her crossed legs. “Where? Simon is in no condition to be moved,”  
“Then we all die. I’ll carry him if I have to,” N’golo gathered his gear fitfully. “We go right, find a passage out of the canyon.”  
“That’s the plan?” Eric asked.  
“Sure. Is that not enough?”   
“No. We just need to get moving. It’s almost daylight.” He was right. It was already brightening with morning’s yellow rays. Enough for the glow on the horizon to not be ominous flames, instead a peaceful, heavenly glow.   
Gretel sighed and stood, under Simon’s arm. Eric took the other, N’golo leading the pack and Dimitra following up the rear. Simon was almost in a worse condition than the soldier in the meat locker, who N’golo now knew was called Jessica. Jessica Rhodes, Private First Class. She had been accompanied by Alexsandr Sokolov, Private, Rajesh Sandre and Captain John Mactavish. N’golo had memorized the tags already and now ran his fingers over the cheap stamped metal, wrapped around his left hand. He couldn’t say he was thirsty for revenge, because he wasn’t. He wanted to want vengeance, but all he felt was a deep emptiness. He was hollow.  
Gretel eyed up the man whose footsteps she had been following for some time now. He was different, hunched. His once tall, broad frame seemed withered and weak. Not spindly, but just…different. “I’m worried about him.”  
“Simon?” Eric asked  
“No. Well, yes, but N’golo. I’m afraid for him.”  
“I know,” Eric sighed. “He’s done, isn’t he?”  
“I hate to say it, but I agree. Regardless of whether we survive, I do believe this is his last deployment.” It hit like a stone. He had been there so long, it would no longer be the same. Eric couldn’t imagine anyone who he trusted more. No one he believed would do what needed to be done. When he had had his moment of doubt, N’golo had fearlessly lead them to survive. He was their backbone. And he was beginning to slump.   
“How about Dimitra? How’s she?”  
“Certainly, more comfortable. I’m almost certain the present situation has distracted her from her illness, but this is only temporary. If this deployment does not end soon, it may cause irreversible damage to her psyche.”  
“Simon?”“I’m good,” he spluttered.  
“Hush,” Gretel snapped. “He is far from it. He is incredibly resilient for even retaining a pulse, never mind consciousness in these conditions. I recommend we evacuate him as soon as possible,”  
“Evacuate him with what?” Eric asked. He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but he supposed, after the day they’d had, it was inevitable.   
“I haven’t a clue, sergeant. I’m only spouting protocol. Even so, you needn’t be a doctor to understand he needs rest.”  
“I can still…” Simon changed his mind halfway through, “scratch that…get me out of this shithole.”  
Eric decided to finally ask the question he had been longing to for quite some time. “How are you, Gretel?”  
“I’m fine, Sergeant.” He knew it was a lie. He’d shocked her and she didn’t have an answer. Or she didn’t have one he wanted to hear. “Come on, spit it out.”  
The silence hung in the air awkwardly.  
“I’m tired, Eric. So tired. I’m weak, I’m wounded. My ears are ringing, my eyes hurt if I look at something too bright. I doubt I can level a weapon and I only believe I’m continuing to walk because I haven’t stopped yet.”  
Eric anticipated a question on his own well-being when N’golo roused their attention with a fist up and two words. “Wait here.”  
They had arrived at their exit route. It was a man-made tunnel, snaking up into the rock. It went straight for a few metres, then sharply cut away. He peered into the murky darkness, but saw nothing. He levelled the comforting weight of his half-loaded assault rifle and peeked quickly around the corner into the cavern, his torch ignited. “We’re in business.”   
The squad were visibly relieved, but they could not demonstrate their excitement either due to exhaustion, apprehension or risk of detection. At around half way through the debilitating trek, Gretel murmured “This cave is not a natural formation.”  
“We gathered,” Eric muttered. “What’s so special about it?”  
“The UNSC, or even humanity, has no possible way to manufacture such a structure. This predates humanity on the planet. It must be the work of whichever past race created the ruins we discovered before.”  
They were silent until they finally surfaced into the new dawn. Somehow, they had survived the battle. One more added to the list.


	16. Dawn

She had never been much of a poet, nor one to admire the landscape. Despite all this, Dimitra couldn’t help but smile at the beauty of the world unravelling around her. She had read enough poetry with school to know how to analyse it, but it had never been her strong suit. Not like chemistry. But for some reason, she was obsessed with the dunes. They were shaped like the lines of a thick duvet, sharp valleys running in elongated swathes. They shifted slightly in the wind.   
On the opposite side of the canyon, the ruddy golden light of the sun arched over the land, poking through the oily black smoke rising from the gash in the earth. The rays of light bounced from the sands into her face. In the soft summer breeze, the ground seemed to almost move, tissue thin sheets of floating sand lapping at her ankles. As she said, not much of poet. Or an author. It had always been unneeded to her, the inner meanings. Surviving a near death experience had changed her view. It had given context. Context. All good poetry has context.  
Gretel was passed out in the sand, Simon once again draped over her legs, snoring uneasily. Eric was sat on the only boulder in the desert it seemed, looking at N’golo. The man was stood with his helmet buried in the sand at his feet. His ebony skin was like liquid in the yellow light. He was staring at Dimitra, worried for her. “What’s the deal with her,” Eric asked  
“What?”  
“You see something in her. The way you talk about her.”  
“Eric, no offence, but we’re hardly in the situation to gossip”  
“That’s fair. When this is all over, we have to have a chat over a few beers. On me.”  
“When it’s over?”  
“You don’t think it’ll end?”  
“Not the way you do.”  
“It might not look like it, but I think we’re winning. I mean, we just got fucked with a rusty pole, I’m not arguing there, but that frigate up there? It’s up to something. Just you watch.”  
Such short-term thinking hadn’t been N’golo’s intention. Haven’s fate wasn’t what N’golo had meant and Eric knew it. He didn’t want to answer the question on how the war was going. Everyone knew they were losing that. No one dared admit it. They were distracted by a dispatched pelican from the frigate that had been drifting ever closer all morning.   
Eric felt drained by the thought of more soldiers being sent to their death, forced to reinforce a graveyard. Therefore, the trajectory gave him little cause for joy. Despite that, the proximity to their location stirred something in his. Dim, poor hope. But it was hope nonetheless. “Wake them up; we have to move.” Eric ordered, clapping his hands. “Up, up.”  
“Eric,” Gretel said, her arm draped dramatically over her face. “If this is not important, I will toss you into the canyon.”  
“There’s a pelican.”  
In an instant, her exhaustion had turned into motivation, as she got herself and Simon to their feet and began marching to intercept the vehicle. “Follow her, I suppose,” Eric shrugged when the others stared at him.   
The olive plane landed on the plateau, a hundred feet from the lip of the canyon and right in the ODST’s path. It was almost a mirage, the saviour of their pitiful existence in the desert. It could have been, until a seven-foot-tall spartan clad in blue armour hailed them closer, clutching a DMR. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Eric asked, sun dazed and disbelieving. Surely, a Spartan hadn’t been sent to save them? “That’s classified soldier, but if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing here?”  
“Classified,” Simon giggled, drooping from Gretel’s shoulder. She shrugged him back up, but he slipped face first into the sand, grunting in pain as his eye was disturbed. The spartan leaned close, rolling him over. She plucked him into her arms like a child, surveying the sorry sight of the soldiers. “You’d best come inside.”  
When they entered the air conditioned, leather seated Pelican, an MRE and bottle of lukewarm water between them was a miracle. They eagerly swallowed it all, barely chewing. It had been even more a shock when, inside, there had been four more spartans. A taller, broader male who hadn’t uttered a word, an orange male lugging a small device on his lower back and a single shot grenade launcher, a chatty, bubbly French sniper and an unseen pilot.   
“Let’s start over,” The first Spartan they’d encountered, clearly the leader, was speaking “I’m commander Sarah, and you are?”  
“I’m staff sergeant Stevens, this is sergeant Arendse, corporal Koenig, PFC Simonides and private Ewart.”  
“If we explained everything we did to get here, we’d be all day.” N’golo chipped in  
“Thank you for your contribution,” Eric said snidely. “He’s right though, long story short we got stuck in the base and had to hold it, only it fell and we legged it.”  
“I understand.” She glanced back at the spartans, some of whom nodded, before she continued in a hesitant tone “Our mission, takes us there. We were ordered to torch and burn the site.” The conscious ODSTs allowed the news to sink in, unsurprised at the development.  
“High command has called for a scorched earth policy. We’re falling back to Tarbeth and trashing anything we can’t carry.”  
“The city almost collapsed last week when they Covvies last attacked it. It won’t hold again,” N’golo argued.  
“Those are our orders,” Papnova lamented. “You’re probably looking for some rest, but anything we should know before we go down?”  
“There’s a whole load of covenant down there.”  
“Shit’s fucked.”  
“They appeared to be gathering prisoners.” Eric, N’golo and Gretel spoke simultaneously. Sarah nodded, thanked the soldiers and ordered the spartans out.   
“Richard, get them back to the frigate.”  
“Rog commander”, he said, firing up the engines. “What about you?”  
“Get them home safe and gun it back here, we won’t wait around.” Sarah ordered, jumping from the cargo hold onto the sand. She surveyed her crack team, watching the pelican jet off into the sunrise. “This isn’t a good idea,” Sarah muttered.   
“Come on, we get to see a big boom,” Derek grinned, tapping her on the shoulder.   
“Oh how I wish I was so easily amused,” she sighed, walking between Marie and Aaron whilst Derek almost skipped along.  
Richard gazed at the sleeping soldiers in his cargo bay, debating whether to wake them. A few minutes after take-off, they had one by one slipped into a slumber, but now he had landed, he wrestled with the idea to rouse them. They needed, no, deserved, sleep more than anyone, but Ball would want to see them. What he hadn’t anticipated was her striding into the hangar and onto his craft. “Captain,” he saluted, snapping his ankles together. “At ease, spartan. What is the meaning of this?”  
“We found them in the desert, above the canyon and the commander ordered me to bring them back here.”  
“I see,” she stroked her chin, thinking. “Wake them and send them to me. I’ll be waiting.”  
“Captain,” he saluted again as she walked off, looking ruefully at the soldiers.   
Gretel was awakened by Dimitra tapping lightly on her visor. “Are you awake, doctor?”  
“She wasn’t,” N’golo said glibly. Gretel shook her off and sat up, rubbing her stiff neck. “Where is Simon?” she went stiff, realizing his absence. Dimitra put a pistol in her holster, yawning. “He was dispatched to the med bay as soon as we landed, I’m told. It’s no shock you weren’t woken when they took him.”  
“I’ve had more sleep in a night than we’ve had in the past week,” Eric said grimly.  
“Quite. It’s a pleasant surprise we’re even standing,” Gretel mused, a half grin on her face.  
“Alright, enough patting ourselves on the back,” Eric said, lighting a cigar as he did so. “We’re meeting the skipper on the bridge, so let’s go”. They thanked Richard for the ride and started the long walk to the bridge.  
More accurately, the short walk to the elevator. Even with it being twenty feet away, the walk felt like a marathon. The tiny elevator was mirrored on all sides, but one was crisscrossed with cracks like ice. The four soldiers were crammed in the tiny box while tinny speakers spouted a poor rendition of some long-forgotten piece of elevator music.   
Eric’s unfocused eyes settled on his reflection in the mirror. At first, he didn’t recognise it, covered in a foundation of grime, as it was. His stunningly poor appearance didn’t stop him admiring his battered face on the scratched, dirt smeared mirror. He scratched his stubbly chin, spilling ash onto his boots. He looked as if he had been marinated in dust, pitting his uniform an odd mix of khaki dirt and the inky black fabric.   
They all wore similar shades of this new, natural camouflage. Most had some form of facial marking too. Gretel had hidden her bruised face under her helmet, but her clear visor exposed her blackened eye and the tiniest section of her bust lip. N’golo had three fresh scars to add to his collection. Two ran over his left eyebrow, down to the tip of his nose, and the final ran down the bridge of his nose. He despised the goofiness of it, but thanked that it hadn’t been deeper. He too had left his helmet on, mostly due to its controlled temperature keeping his fresh wounds out of the breeze. Dimitra had chosen to bear her scars openly, showing the rippling, wiry flesh that ran from her cheekbone to her chin, shaped like an odd sickle. Her chin was kept aloft and she steeled her gaze. The silver doors slipped open soundlessly, giving way to the bridge.  
A deckhand stepped back, stunned at their gritty appearance. He swallowed, waving them into the bridge. “Captain Ball is waiting.”  
They thanked him, walking dopily into the bridge. Despite their best efforts, they looked exhausted. All discipline had been battered out of them by the past week of combat. A janitor behind muttered something about clean floors and N’golo almost spat a retort, but he was too exhausted to think of one.   
Ball stood gazing out of the window, her hands folding over one another behind her back. The soldiers fanned out in a semi-circle, rifles draped over their shoulders, helmets in hand. Patiently as they could, they waited for her to acknowledge them. Eric lit a cigar, a trail of acrid smoke fingering at their nostrils. Ball turned and hid a sneer of disgust at the scent. Her grandfather had been a marine who smoked heavily. In the end, that had killed him. “Usually I would have given you time to rest and clean up, but given the circumstances,”  
Eric puffed on his cigar, asking curtly “Why are we here, Captain?”  
Dr Koenig, to Eric’s left, looked drearily at the floor. She rocked gently from side to side, her hands trembling in time with her soft, almost inaudible humming. The tallest, twice as broad as she was, avoided her gaze and shifted the weight of his shotgun to his off hand, scratching behind his neck with the barrel. Eric, centre of the pack, the glue holding them together, kept his gaze locked firmly on Jean’s eyes as she scanned his team. The far-right soldier, whose olive skin and coal black hair marked her as Greek, was unreadable. Her hair was more akin to oil than coal, as it was so greasy it looked to not have been washed in months. Her chin was held high and her eyes remained on a fixed point in the distance, but they were bloodshot and blinking at an alarming rate, matching the slight dither she had acquired, whether due to stress, shock or exhaustion, a combination or neither, she couldn’t tell. What she could tell, was the soldiers were in dire need of rest. She would make it quick.  
“You are here because you survived the massacre in the canyon,” Ball said. “I would like to know how”  
“Luck,” N’golo said.  
“That is not the answer I was looking for.”  
“It’s the only answer you’ll get, unless you want a lie,” he said angrily. “I saw plenty of good, strong marines killed because a bullet went astray, a rock tumbled wrong, hell, their gun jammed.”  
He reached into his pocket and withdrew the mass of dog tags he had collected, tossing them at Jean, who caught them easily. She quickly browsed the names and offered him them back. He waved them away. With a look of despair on her lined face, she put them over the AI pedestal to her left.  
“That could have been any of us, but we lived because of pure luck,” N’golo repeated.  
“Be that as it may, I would still enjoy to know what you did to evade the covenant. Assuming you didn’t combat them directly,” Jean insisted.  
Eric looked at his team and, when no one volunteered, sighed and began to recite the events of the battle. From the earliest arrival to meeting the spartans. His tale grew to a close, and Jean’s face remained still. Like a statue. The grimace of icy command upon her lips, at all times.   
“Did you happen to encounter any Zealot class elites?”  
“Zealots?” Dimitra asked  
“Golden or purple ornate armour. Strong shields.”  
“Can’t say we did,” Eric replied. “Why?”  
Jean paused a moment. This was highly classified information, and Eric’s impertinence had begun to try her patience. Regardless, she relented. He deserved to know.  
“They seem to be deployed in small teams to acquire artefacts. Ancient tools of a race long deceased, but connected to us, somehow.”  
“So, the covenant want old toys from aliens?”  
“The kind you sent Spartans to destroy?” Gretel piped up  
“I beg your pardon?”   
N’golo agreed “The demo guy had a HAVOC on his back. Those spartans were sure as shit blowing up something.” As he said this, a gust of wind from the surface erupted from Demepor’s surface, forcing out a ring of sand. It was hardly noticeable, at first. A gentle bustle that grew to a ferocious gale, snatching away at the sky, clawing towards the frigate.  
The force rocked the ship so hard they had to grip the nearest wall to remain upright. A glowing yellow mushroom cloud had started to rise, spreading out over the plateau and enveloping miles and miles of the desert. It devoured a mountain, then further and further. Still the debris and ash carried on rising, becoming almost on par with the frigate itself.   
“Why didn’t you do that before now?” N’golo cried, outraged.  
Ball ran her fingers through her coffee brown curls, speaking slowly. “I would have preferred not to. We sacrificed so many good men and women for that canyon because the secrets of that relic were so vital,”  
“But you couldn’t allow the covenant to gain access either,” Dimitra finished. “So, you denied anyone access.”  
Ball paced the floor, breathing heavily. “You must understand, I did as I was ordered. The relics matter not to me, but I have had it insisted to me that such intelligence is vital to the war effort.”   
“Tell that to the people you just atomised,” N’golo murmured.  
“These are dire times, and any action of benefit must be taken, regardless of cost.”   
Immediately, Gretel understood. Ball was asking for their help. Eric had picked up on it too. “It’s a shame we’re so exhausted, Captain. If you’ll permit it, we’d like to be dismissed. It’s been the longest fortnight of our lives and I think we can all agree we just want to sleep for sixteen hours straight.” He didn’t even wait for her leave as he walked away. They looked back from the elevator. As the door slid shut, Ball’s face fell. Ruefully, she said “Of course, sergeant. Take as long as you need.”  
“Long as I need?” N’golo chuckled. “Forever is a bit much.”  
The lift whirred quietly as they travelled down into the lower levels of the ship. The barracks were stuffed with people fleeing the covenant, be they civilians or soldiers. So poor was the situation, the ODSTs were relegated to a single dorm between them. Simon, weak but recovering, had been admitted whilst they were debriefed. As they entered, he snored gently into a pillow. Exhausted, they each took a bunk and allowed themselves to relax for the first time in days.


	17. Tranquility

Simon rolled off of his bunk and out of bed with a thud. Gretel looked at him with pity. She had been lying awake for a while now, trying to sleep. Invigorated by desire to aid, she slipped off of the bunk onto the cold floor. She shuddered from the sensation, her soles stinging on the cold silver floor. Simon was struggling to stand, wrapped in his blanket like a child. “Come now, let me help,” she said soothingly, pulling the fabric off him and gently laying it down on the bed. He looked up at her sadly, his good eye watering ever so slightly.   
He ended the look quickly, burying his half-bandaged head in his hands. She tutted and sat beside him, patting his shoulder and speaking softly. “Hush Simon, it will all be ok,”  
“And I’m the queen of Shiva,” he replied bitterly  
“Do not be like this. Whatever is the matter?”   
Simon looked up at her, his eye filled with disappointment. “What’s the matter? I have fifty pieces of shrapnel buried in my skull. Half my face is peppered with pink crystal, like a damn fairy cake, and my left eye is rotting in a jar somewhere. Should I add to the list?”  
“This is nothing, Simon. Physical loss is tragic, I understand that. But you must disregard your physicality, look instead deeper into yourself. Your soul. You are still whole, your mind sharp as ever. You will recover, as many have before you.”  
“We’ll have to see about that.” As Simon yawned, his eyes slipped shut. His head fell back on the bed. Gretel sat there for a while, listening to the rhythmic ebb and flow of his breathing.  
In a reflective mood, Gretel looked down at herself and realizing she hadn’t bathed in quite some time. Her body was usually very toned, but the stresses of the past few days had left her bloated and thinned at the same time. Her legs poked out of her underwear like toothpicks, and the t-shirt she had pulled out of the lost and found hung from her frame as if she was a scarecrow. She shuddered at the thought and hobbled over the freezing floor, out of the doorway and into the shower block.   
Shivering, she twisted the temperature knob of the shower, sending steaming water out of the head. Gretel pulled the door closed as she entered, quickly undressing and stepping under the deluge. The force of the water hit her like a ton of bricks, but it was a treasure after so many difficult days. It was a long time until she emerged, fingers pruned and hair dripping. Fresh clothes were supplied in every block and, wrapped in a towel of course, she eagerly pulled on a cotton top and loose cargo pants. They were mediocre quality at best, but after days being filled with sand, they felt like the smoothest silk. With a towel covering her soaked hair, Gretel headed for the mess hall, and the food awaiting her.  
It was silent in the mess hall. A rack of sandwiches, pastries and condiments lined the wall nearest an empty counter. The clock above the door read six thirty, but what date, Gretel could not ascertain. Her instinct told her they had likely lost a day and a half, possibly two. Her rabid hunger supported the idea. It took all her effort and dignity not to eat the sausage roll cold, but she willed against it and microwaved it. That definitely made it more satisfying.  
It wasn’t a proper sausage, not like the kind she had grown up on. It tasted processed and very military, but in absence of a true, handmade German sausage, it would do. Having been starved for half a week likely helped the flavour. She would have murdered a man for a pint of beer to wash it down with, but flat cola, again, would do. She found a copy of a French adventure story and read it as she ate. She didn’t get far, on account of her very rusty French and fast eating, but it was good so far as she could tell. By the time she was done, it was five minutes to seven. Gretel binned her waste and dropped her cutlery in the sink. The view out of the window showed her a side of the planet she had yet to see from orbit.   
A scar stretched across the sand where the orbital defence platform had fell. When the covenant had first arrived, they had ploughed through the platform like plasterboard. It had set a precedent for the force the covenant possessed. Strangely, despite that early victory, the covenant had not taken advantage of their superior space capability. They had refrained from orbital bombardment, or even aerial attacks.   
Gretel silently theorized that if the wall had held, or had the Insurrection not launched a coup, the canyon would still exist. They would have beaten back the covenant. And the radioactive hellscape would not exist. Sunbreaker was running silently through space, pushing aside pieces of debris from the battle. On the other side of the planet, moving against the natural spin, two more frigates approached. Gretel guessed they were Soissons and Peking. Likely, this converging trio was the remains of the armada tasked with defending Demepor.  
Gretel stood staring at that horizon for longer than she dared admit. Watching the encroaching frigates and the gentle curvature of the planet was such a soothing experience that she simply forgot the events of the time. The deft twinkle of the stars, the movement of the azure moon towards them, it was like being inside a painting. All the while she was unaware of the woman stood behind her, observing her interest in the world unfolding ahead of her. When she finally spoke, Gretel’s nerves almost imploded.   
“Pretty, ain’t it?” the woman said.  
“Quite,” Gretel replied politely. Her heart pounded, so loudly she was certain the girl must be able to hear. “Do I-Do I know you?”  
“Maybe. Probably not. I know you though, and your friends. The tall, dark and handsome one and his pretty little Greek friend. Your two brit buddies too.”  
“I see…where would we have met?”  
“At the mall,” the woman said. “You saved us. Me and my sister, we went through the sewers to the beach.”  
“Ah, of course! Forgive me, I have had an incredibly stressful week. I haven’t asked your name,”  
“It’s Ruby, my sister is Pearl.”  
“Those are beautiful names,” Gretel smiled. “My name is Gretel.”  
“Pleasure to meet you again, Gretel,” Ruby smirked. Her orange hair shimmered in the stark white light of the mess hall.   
“Auf wiedersehen,” Gretel waved, walking away. Ruby called out as she reached the doorway. “I meant to thank you.”   
“For what? We merely did our job,” Gretel replied.  
“No. For inspiring me,” Ruby remarked.   
Gretel stopped. Did the girl mean she intended to sign up? Gretel couldn’t bring herself to warn the girl against this decision. It would be the death of her. Instead, she merely smiled and curtsied, walking away slightly faster than before.   
When Gretel returned to the dorm, it was eight. The ODSTs were beginning to rouse, Eric first. He sat up, utterly beleaguered at the bright light Gretel illuminated as she entered. “Fucking hell, where have you been?” He blinked like an owl.   
Gretel shrugged, merely saying “For a walk.”   
Eric grunted and scratched at his scarred chest. One by one the troopers woke and left, to bathe and eat. Only Gretel and Dimitra remained by the end. Dimitra broke the silence when she finally processed Gretel was staring at her.  
“Is something wrong?” Dimitra asked.  
“Pardon?”  
Have I something on my face?” Dimitra glanced in the mirror, turning to Gretel and folding her arms over her chest.   
“No, no, nothing on your face” Gretel paused.   
“What then?” Dimitra looked back at the mirror, certain she was the butt of some joke.  
“It’s just…when I was gone, I encountered someone in the mess hall. A redhead, called Ruby. Hardly more than a girl.”  
“I see…how do I factor into this, doctor?”  
“Well, she has a look of you. Similar age, I imagine. She said we saved her at the mall, so she was inspired to join up.”   
Dimitra raised an eyebrow and asked simply “Again, I fail to see how this involves me.”  
“Oh it doesn’t. Nothing more than resemblance.”   
They were quiet again for a time. “I do not know how to feel. If that girl signs up, she’s signing on for almost certain death.”  
“And we’re not?” Dimitra said sardonically. “I’m glad you have such faith in our survival, doctor.”  
“This is different. I am old and experienced. You…difficult as I find it to admit, you have aged much in such a short time. Mere weeks have grown you years, and we have little to teach you. Her, on the other hand…”  
“It’s too late for us, you mean?” Dimitra sounded hurt. “isn’t it?”  
“I would find it a miracle should we see the end of this campaign.”  
“How many times have you said that, doctor?”  
“Touché,” Gretel conceded. Her face split into a smile for a brief second. “For all the miracles I have experienced, I do wonder if a higher power watches me.”  
“That would certainly set my mind at ease,” Dimitra admitted jokingly. She looked around awkwardly. “Don’t dwell on it doctor. It will only upset you. Who knows? Maybe, when all this is over, Ruby will have changed her mind. I know I certainly have.”   
Gretel laughed pleasantly, and allowed the silence to remain undisturbed.


	18. Before the Storm

It had been a long few days. Misery hung in the air, tangible and fresh. Simon was hardly speaking. Gretel had tried to coax something out of him, but at Eric’s insistence, she had relented. “I’m still worried about him,” Gretel maintained.  
“I know, I know.” Eric gazed dimly out of the window. Demepor looked almost peaceful from here. “What do you think we should do about him?”   
“He needs a full analysis,” Gretel began.  
“Can’t you do that?”  
“Not here, not on my own, not with everything going on. Regardless, I would much rather those more competent than I oversee him.”  
“Never heard you doubt yourself before.” Eric raised his eyebrows, trying to piece together what was going on in her head. What was she getting at?  
“I have no reservations on the limits of my abilities, Eric. Simon is in need of extreme help with his mental state, and I am afraid I must insist he is given proper aid.”  
“And what can I do about that?” Eric ran a hand down his face. He was grey and worn. Tired. “I’m just a grunt, Gretel. Same as you. You can do more about this than I can, because Ball doesn’t dislike you, and you know what you’re talking about.”  
Gretel’s ears perked up. “Ball dislikes you? For what reason?”  
“Let’s not get into this,” Eric said. “We’re not talking about me, Simon is the important one right now.”  
“That doesn’t negate your issues, Eric.”  
“Yes, it does. I’m pulling rank, forget about me.”  
“As you wish,” Gretel sighed. “We must stop bickering like this.”  
“You’re telling me,”  
“Yes. I am. Sarcasm and snide remarks do not help, Eric. I understand you are stressed, but we all are. Everyone is weak and tired, and I would much rather you spend some time resting, instead of wasting away at night, tossing and turning, fearing for our lives when we are safe.”  
“Safe?” Eric let out a harsh, cold laugh. “Yes, we are so very safe, Gretel, aren’t we? If a single one of those cruisers finds us, we’re space dust.”  
“But they won’t find us. It has been days since our last contact!”  
“Yeah, days.” His eyes glazed over. Flashes and memories flooded back to him. Danny. Dimitra’s wide eyes as she stumbled from the store. Simon’s ruined face. “A few days mean nothing. We’ve been fighting twenty years. I’ve been fighting fifteen years. A few days are water under the bridge.”  
The soft rumble of the air conditioning cut out. Gretel looked deep into Eric’s eyes. “They are a few more days that you are breathing, which is more than others can say.”   
“But I’m not. At least, I don’t feel like I am. I’m worn out, and I can’t rest. But when I’m being shot at, that doesn’t matter, does it? You know what I mean. You can run on adrenaline for a long time. When it runs out, you can’t get back to how you were. Not the same, never. You wake up expecting gunshots, screams, and when they’re not there, you try and sleep again. But you can’t. Then you’re up, you’re tired, and you haven’t got adrenaline to keep you going. So, before you say I should be happier because I’m safe, Gretel, consider this: I don’t want to be safe!”  
He barged her aside, storming down the corridor. She let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. One more person broken by the war. So now she knew. He would never leave. He couldn’t ever leave. He’d die violently, in a field of violent deaths, because it was the only way he felt alive. She tried to stand still, but she shuddered like a racehorse about to ride. God, he was typical! Of course, it was him, and of course it was her job to keep him from being like this. Shame turned her cheeks scarlet. It wasn’t his fault. Not really. But that didn’t make it easier, for either of them.  
The dorm was empty of activity. Simon was asleep. As usual. Dimitra read. N’golo thought. He’d been doing that a lot, recently. Thoughts had dominated his mind, about everything. How he could have done things differently. How they might have stayed out of trouble.   
“D, do you regret anything we’ve done?”  
“I regret things I’ve done,”  
“That’s not what I’m asking. What have you had to do when you’ve been riding with us, that made you think?”  
Dimitra didn’t speak. She put the book down on the bunk, breathing deeply. “In the canyon.”  
“Go on,”  
“Those rebels. When we…”  
“I understand.” He rolled over, looking up at the dull ceiling. Paint was chipping from the walls, tiny flakes falling away from the safety of the wall. Exposing the bare steel beneath. He understood what Dimitra meant. They’d murdered those rebels. Sure, some had been murderers themselves. But most had fought with them, for the betterment of everyone.   
He still remembered some of those faces. How they looked, holes in the foreheads, oozing life onto the sand.   
Simon overheard. He remembered them too. The face of the man he had executed in cold blood, on Eric’s orders. The others he had shot in the back, the front, the side. Everywhere. Most weren’t even treacherous. But he couldn’t get that poor, kneeling man’s face from his mind.   
Gretel returned, and the mood grew warmer. “How is everyone,” she spoke quietly, aware of Simon sleeping. Or so she assumed he was. “We’re how you’d expect, doc.” N’golo rolled to the edge of the bed, holding his head in his hands. Gretel pursed her lips. “N’golo, I would like to speak with you.”  
“You sound like a teacher,” he moaned, shivering as his bare feet touched the cold floor.  
Gretel lead him outside the dorm. “I’m worried about Eric and Simon.”  
“I know. For a psychologist, you’re easy to read.”  
“Shush. Eric has some more severe issues than I am willing to confide in you, but just understand; the excellent work I’m told you did outside the canyon? It might be needed sooner than you think.”  
“Great. And Simon?”  
“All the reasons you’d expect. He is wounded, he is not in a good place mentally, and I hope to end this campaign soon to provide him proper care.”  
“How do I factor into all of this?”  
“You need to be there for me, N’golo. I need you to remain stoic, as always, and support my opinions. Without question. Can you do that?”  
“Woah, Gretel, that’s a big ask, and I can’t-”  
“Without. Question. Can you do that?”  
N’golo looked at her. Deep into her eyes. Those big blue eyes held pain he couldn’t imagine. The heavy bags under looked like great shadows, cast from her towering doubts. He looked at the ground, running his hands though his hair. He’d loved this woman, once. He trusted her more than she could ever know. But could he do this for her? “Yes. Yes, I can do that.”  
Eric patrolled the corridor, looking for something to occupy his mind. He found nothing. Everyone he spoke to was busy, and many hardly had the time to look up at him. He felt like screaming. He felt like stealing a ship and riding down to the planet and defending it himself. But he couldn’t. He missed it. He couldn’t believe it, but he missed the combat, the explosions, the death. No. Not that. Not death. Those haunted him more than the echoes of shellfire ever would.   
He was heading to the bathroom, unsure if he would splash his face or drown himself, when a deckhand jogged towards him. “Sergeant Stevens, sergeant Stevens!”  
“What?” Eric’s eyes narrowed as the deckhand drew closer.  
“Captain Ball wants to see you,”  
“She does?” He had to hold back a smile. He felt like his veins were pumping electricity. He would have a purpose soon. And he was ecstatic.   
Inside five minutes, he was back on the bridge. It was dead as a cemetery. “Slow day, huh?”   
“It won’t be,” Ball turned to face Eric. “I brought you here because I-”  
“Have a mission for me? I guessed. Let’s cut to the chase, captain.”  
Ball narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “As you wish,”   
“I have devised a plan to finish this, once and for all. But I need your help,”  
“Evidently. Before we start, just know that I’m in.”  
“Excellent,” Ball’s lips turned up in a smile. It faded quickly. She knew he was being sent on a suicide mission. But that could wait. “I’m certain you are aware, we are under threat from a CAS assault carrier. I need your help to kill it.”  
“Why me?”  
“Because you’re daring and cunning and brave. And, the one thing we do better than the covenant is ground combat.”  
“I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, captain, but the assault carrier isn’t ground combat.”  
“Yes, I am aware.” She clenched her fist, then realised and let it slacken. “I intend to land ODSTs onto the carrier. Equipped with explosives, they will destroy the ship from inside the shield.”  
Eric’s brow furrowed. “Hoo. Well,” his hands ran over his head, his fingers running through his hair. He let out a heavy breath. “Jesus, alright, uh, captain, permission to speak freely?”  
“Granted.”  
“This is either the best idea you’ve ever had, or the worst. It’s batshit either way, but it might just work.”  
Ball smiled weakly. “I’m glad you see it as I do.”  
“Like I said, I’ll do it. I have to insist however; my team does not join me.”  
“Why?”  
“I can’t sign them up for a suicide mission. If they were fit and healthy, I’d still make them stay. But in their condition, broken like they are? No way. I insist they stay.”  
“Insist?” Her nose crinkled at his impertinence. But she conceded. “I understand.”  
“When do you plan to drop?”  
“Later today. Sixteen-hundred hours. Get some rest, or pray. Just make sure you are there.”  
Eric walked the halls alone. The frigate had started to wake, excitement, or rather, nervousness, made the air feel electric. His heart was starting to beat faster. His fingers twitched. He felt alive again. He came across another ODST, struggling with a vending machine. “Need some help?”  
“Sure,” the soldier backed up, moving his arm from the slot.   
Eric barged the machine, sending the snack dropping down with a thud. “Thanks, friend. Say, are you a helljumper too?”  
“Yeah, I am. Are you in on the deployment today?” Eric asked  
“I’m dropping onto the carrier, yes.” The soldier tried to stay strong, but his sporadic swallowing tipped Eric off to his distress.   
“You’ll be fine,” Eric lied. “Whatever happens, we know that the planet will be safe.”  
“Sure, sure…say, you don’t know what they’re doing about the battlecruiser, do you?”  
“There’s one left?”  
“Weak, yeah. But it’s, it’s there alright.”  
“I see…maybe some of us hit the cruiser and some the carrier?”  
“Maybe…what about the…” The soldier lowered his voice and leaned in close. “Spartans?”  
“I-uh, that’s a possibility,” Eric stroked his chin. “I think they might hit the cruiser. Yeah, that makes sense…”  
“Anyway. It’s not for us to think about, is it? After all, we’re only grunts.”  
“Only grunts,” Eric chuckled. He watched the soldier to the end of the hall, then headed back to the dorm.  
Dimitra tossed a pillow at N’golo. He ducked and it sailed over his head, contacting with the wall and gliding to the floor. “Missed,” he bent down to pick it up and return fire, when the door slid open and Eric strolled in. They immediately tensed, sensing something wrong. “Eric,” N’golo said curtly. He’d had time to think about canyon, the rebels who he had ordered massacred. It tainted his view of him. “N’golo. How are you?”  
“How you’d expect. Groggy. Bored. Glad I’m not being shot at. You?”  
“The same,” Eric said plainly. He squeezed past N’golo and opened a locker. He rifled through the contents, ignoring the odd stares he was receiving.   
Dimitra tilted her head at N’golo inquisitively. He shrugged. “Sergeant, are you well?”  
“Yes. Why? Why do you ask?”  
“You merely seem…odd?”  
“Odd. I’m just preoccupied, Dimitra. Thank you,”  
“Preoccupied with what, exactly?”  
“Nothing for you. The captain asked me to do something. Find a file, a folder or something.”  
“Well which is it? A file or folder? We can help,”  
“I don’t need help!” He snapped.  
N’golo, who had tried to ignore Dimitra’s attempt, whirled around when Eric snapped. “What the hell is wrong, Eric? What’s gotten into you?”  
“Nothing! Just stop pestering me,”   
“It’s not pestering when something is wrong! Is this about having nothing to do? Because you’re not taking it out on us,” N’golo insisted.   
Eric threw up his arms. “It’s about a mission.”  
N’golo and Dimitra sighed in defeat. It had been half a week since their last mission. So soon? “A mission you’re not going on.”  
“We’re not?” Dimitra asked  
“No. You’re not. Medical grounds, apparently.”  
“Medical grounds?” Dimitra repeated. She rolled the words though her mouth, almost chewing on them. Something didn’t sit right.   
“Let me guess, you’re not discharged?” N’golo said  
“No, I’m not. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Eric raised the folder, motioned to the door and left. Dimitra blew out some air. “That was…”  
“Fucking freaky,” N’golo suggested. Not the words she’d have used, but she nodded. Fucking freaky it had been.   
Dimitra left the dorm soon after, ignoring N’golo protests and questions. He didn’t follow far. She searched the ship for Gretel and, unable to locate her, headed to the next best place. The medical bay. Perhaps that should have been her first port of call, but alas.  
Throwing herself through the doors, she stormed towards the overseer. “Is Bravo Two exempt from duty on medical grounds?”  
“You’ll have to wait, like everyone else.”  
“Is Bravo Two exempt on medical grounds? It is a simple question, answer it and I will be out of your hair.”  
“Simple as it might be, you have to wait.” The overseer looked over her glasses. “You’ll have to wait, like everyone else.”  
Dimitra scoffed and looked around. The entryway was desolate. “Unless you are treating the invisible, I see no-one I must wait for.”  
“Perhaps we have people scheduled?”  
“Are they here now?”  
“Well evidently,”  
“Then answer my question.”  
“How about,”  
“Sair!” Gretel called out. “Manage your temper and answer her question. Please. I’m certain whoever may or may not be scheduled can wait.”   
Sair looked at Gretel, who returned a fiery stare. “Fine.”   
Quickly, she tapped away at the keyboard. “Bravo Two, was it? No, no exemption on medical grounds. Except Two Five, they are unfit for duty.”  
“I guessed as much,” Dimitra rolled her eyes. “Thank you.” Without another word, she left the room, leaving the women staring at her in confusion. “Was that so hard?” Gretel patted Sair’s head. “Doctor, with all due respect, fuck off.”  
Eric rounded the corner straight into Dimitra. He was sprawled on the floor, groaning, when Dimitra sprang up, looming over him. “You lied to us.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I asked the medical overseer. Bar Simon, we are all fit for duty. So explain to me, Eric, what your game is?”  
“My game? I’ve got no game. What do you want me to do, shake my fist in the air and curse you meddling kids?”  
“Now is not the time for jokes, sergeant. Explain.”  
“There’s nothing to explain,” he avoided her gaze. “Ball told me about the mission. When I heard, I wanted you out. I don’t want to do it. I thought medical grounds was a good enough excuse.”  
“And you didn’t consult us? What if we wanted to go?”  
“We both know that’s a lie,” he sat up, staring her down. “You were glum as mud when I mentioned a mission. So, don’t play self-righteous with me.”  
“Self-righteous? Don’t insult me, sergeant. If anything, you seem to be repenting, trying to redeem yourself. What’s the price of your soul? Equal to mine? Simon’s? N’golo’s? Gretel? Or is it all of ours, together? Don’t think it will clean your hands.”  
“What the fuck are you on about?”  
“If you’re regretful for those rebels, what you made us do to them? It will take more than the lives of the team to make up for it.”  
Eric burst out laughing. “You think I care about that scum? I don’t regret what I did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I warned them what would happen if they disobeyed.”  
“I don’t believe it,” Dimitra shook her head. Pacing the width of the hallway, she pointed at him accusingly “You’re sick!”  
“I did what I had to do. I stuck by my code. I protected the people I had to.”  
“By executing those who did nothing to you?”  
“Yes. Dimitra, just try and understand this; I am protecting the lives of my team. That includes you.”  
Dimitra curled her lip. “You are unbelievable. What makes us so worthy of your charitable actions?”  
“Don’t take that tone with me,”  
“Stop speaking to me like you are my parent, and answer my question!”  
“Because you have something to live for! You and Simon, you’re young. You have lives beyond this. Gretel has a career to pursue, N’golo…the world is his oyster. You might think we’re all equally old, but believe me, I am older than you think.”  
“Eric, I’m prepared to-”  
“To what? To die? No, you aren’t.” He folded his arms. “You know how many kids I’ve heard say that? Better yet, you know how many have? How many kids I saw die, seemingly willingly? Trust me, it’s not that simple.”  
Sean was one of them. The kid hadn’t been paying attention. A jackal sniper had split Sean’s jaw from his skull. The kid had sobbed, not even sounding human. He’d squeezed out something close to “I don’t wanna die,” and not a minute later, he’d done just that.   
Eric shook his head and dispelled the memory. A claxon ripped him back to the present. “-port to SOIEV bay. Repeat, all Orbital Drop Shock troops are to report to the SOIEV bay.” Dimitra looked up at the flashing red lights.   
“Trust me, it’s better this way,” Eric put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She turned away, shrugging him off. With a bitter sigh, he walked away. Down the hall to the drop bay.  
Eric stepped down into an ovular room. Centre stage was a hologram table, illuminating the room in pale blue light. Long shadows, cast by the gathered soldiers, obscured much of the room. Eric was starting to breathe faster. An ODST welcomed him into the group. “As I was saying, three frigates remain. We have a Stalwart, Paris and Charon class, respectively.”  
“What are we up against?” A smaller soldier asked.   
“I was getting to that,” the leader replied. “The assault carrier, which we have identified as Righteous Vengeance, is our target. The battlecruiser, which we have no intel on, is being left to Fireteam Phoenix,”  
Murmurs of “Spartans?” and the like permeated the gloomy room.   
“Stow it,” the leader waved them to be quiet. “Yes, spartans. They have the easy job. We are tasked with landing on the surface of the ship, rupturing the engines to prevent escape and get out of there.”  
“How the hell are we going to get off the covenant ship?”  
“Easy. Taking down the engines should, if our intel is correct, bring about enough strain on the power grid that the shields will go down. We hold for evac, pelicans swoop in to pick us up, and the frigates blast a MAC round each into the carrier.”  
The soldiers looked around doubtfully. Pelicans passing through all that flak to pick them up? Inconceivable. “Sir, how the hell are pelicans going to reach us?”  
“I don’t know,” the leader looked away, exasperated. He sniffed, “It’s not going to be easy. But if it were, they wouldn’t make us do it.”  
That got a few nervous chuckles. “When do we go?”  
“Uhh…about ten minutes. So check your weapons and find your seats. Be ready for this drop, ladies and gentlemen. It’ll be the finest of your life.”  
Eric was shaking. But not with nerves. It was more akin to anticipation, a tentative tremble of anxious excitement. This was it. He’d probably never see another drop. If he did, it’d be a miracle. His mind raced as he scoured the bay for a seat. The pods filled rapidly, many of the soldiers so desperate to distract from their immediate future they simply snatched a pod where they could.   
All semblance of rank and order was disintegrating rapidly. Eric’s bay had been fully occupied, so he turned to seek the adjacent path. Like the teeth of a comb, gantries flanked by pods lined the underside of the ship. He looked to the top of the path and saw his team.  
His fists clenched so hard his hands went white. “What are you doing here?” He hissed.  
“Same as you.” N’golo said.  
“Our duty,” Dimitra added, in a cutting voice. Eric shot a look at her, but she stood firm. “This is no place for you,” Eric insisted.   
“Why not?” Gretel questioned. “We are soldiers also, Eric. Do not forget that, with all we have to lose, we chose to fight. It is an insult, and nothing more thn cowardice, to shirk our duty.”  
“You’re not cowards for surviving,” Eric maintained.   
“Then what are we?”  
“This isn’t an argument you can win, Eric. End of story. Now, are you sitting with us, or what?”  
“Fuck you all,” he murmured, “fuck you all and damn you.”   
The squad walked down the hall like a funeral procession. Even the pods matched their sombre air. The steel coffins in which they would tumble would be the only burial most of them would receive. Soldiers all around prayed. One soldier read fervently from the Torah. Another peered over the reader’s shoulder, desperate to glean some peace from the holy book. Dimitra whispered nervously, Gretel and N’golo remained silent.   
As the four of them embarked their pods, Eric paused. He took one last glance up the hall, at the faint light of the doorway. The last he’d see of UNSC infrastructure. Of solidarity. “Godspeed,” he whispered. In his mind, he said a prayer for them all. He wasn’t religious, never had been, but now felt like as good a time as any to make a new friend. He’d need it, where he was going.   
He closed his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, a silhouette of a man was waiting at the head of the hall. It started to walk, the dull clunk of the crutch it clutched reverberating in his skull. It became more rapid, the incessant clunk burrowing into Eric’s mind. The shadow grew nearer, and as he passed into the light, Simon’s face stared gloomily at Eric.   
“No. No no no,” Eric blocked Simon’s path. “Absolutely not. Get out of here before I drag you out myself!”  
“No! I won’t let you go down there without me,” Simon spat.   
“What is it with you all wanting to get yourselves killed?” Eric crossed his arms.   
“What is it with you and thinking we’re going to die?”  
“Don’t kid yourself son,” Eric lowered his voice, looking at the terrified faces. “This is a suicide mission, and we all know it.”   
“Then we’ll die, and we’ll die together. Saving the things we care about.”  
“That was my plan, but how can I save what I care about if it’s dying with me, needlessly?”  
Simon sighed. His heart panged with pity for this poor man. “Eric, you can’t baby us forever. Tough love got me where I am now,”  
“Missing an eye?”  
Simon glared at him evilly. “Hardened. A soldier. Now get out of my way and let me do my job.”  
“No.”  
‘Excuse me?”  
“That’s no way to address your superior.”  
“This is hardly a standard operation, is it?”  
“Regardless. I’m ordering you, get out of this bay and into a bed, before I pick you up and take you there.”  
A claxon blared. “T-minus 1 minute to decompression.”  
“Hear that?” Simon looked up at the lights. They flashed a hot red, casting sickening, bloody shadows. “You’ll never make it back if you take me away.”  
“You are a cunt.” Eric looked away in disgusted defeat. He’d been bested by a kid. He’d trained that sod well. Simon meanwhile, smirked with satisfaction. He slipped into a pod and slid his helmet onto his head. This was it.


	19. Skyfall

The pods rattled. The sound of hundreds of coffins hanging above their empty graves of empty air. N’golo craned his neck to look down at the battle underway. Soundless dogfights, noiseless explosions. Silent deaths. How long until he joined them?   
Gretel closed her eyes. She’d achieved relative peace, prepared to die. She hoped it would not come to that, but she had become soothed by the potential of an easy passing. Again, peace.   
A stark contrast to Eric, seething as he was. “That little bastard, I can’t believe he did that.”  
“Dropping in ten. Hold onto your helmets, this is it.”  
The timer ticked. Seconds stretched to eternity. How many people had died as they hung there, ready to fall? Too many. How many more would breathe their last as they rushed to their target? Too many.   
It happened. Amid the chaos, noise suffocated by the vacuum, a harsh crack split the universe. A MAC round, propelled at a speed N’golo couldn’t imagine, let alone comprehend, impacted the carrier’s shield. Two more followed. Then, the pods.   
They fell in ordered rows. Rounds from a gun. Instruments of death, expendable to the last. Steel rain splattered the hull.   
It always got Simon, the drop. His stomach entered his mouth for a moment, then he composed himself. His helmet had crashed into the glass, his forehead pulsed with pain telling him he’d have a bruise, but he was fine. He’d probably die before that bruise came through, but who cared? He’d die for a reason. He hoped.  
“Successful drop.” A voice crackled over radio.   
“Roger that. Send the next lot, over.”  
“Understood ma’am. Next drop, inbound.”   
Eric looked up nervously at the frigates. Another MAC round left each ship. He didn’t hear them this time. A vacuum silenced even those godly tools. Like Thor’s lightning, they split the sky and ripped apart the shields of the carrier.   
That wasn’t the only explosion. Many more followed. Blue bolts of energy. The banshees, gliding and diving through the pods, the silent glow of plasma gorging on the helpless pods. Rubble fell with the pods, a morbid entourage for their journey to hell.  
The carrier stretched out for miles below them, filling the view of what should be the floor. Its shield flickered dimly as Sunbreaker fired volleys of rockets into the plasma. “Divert, divert! Those shields are not down, over!” The voice turned to a spine chilling scream, then static. “Say again, alpha two? What is the status of the carrier’s shield, over?” Silence.  
“Alpha two, come in alpha two, over?” Gretel called out.   
“It’s no use, they’re gone,” N’golo said. The radio operator confirmed.   
“Ready the MAC, we’re getting those shields down, over.”   
Simon was trembling. This was bad. He looked down at the carrier, worry digging a pit in his gut.   
“Bravo group, this is Overlord. Prepare for drop in t-minus 5. 4. 3. 2.”  
As Overlord uttered “1,” the pod rails let out a death rattle. Pods collapsed from the gut of the frigate, raining down like the first wave. “Holy hell!”   
The ODSTs of Bravo group let out collective expletives that drowned any fear in bravado and disbelief. “Jesus!” Simon cried. “What’s the shield still doing up?”  
They looked out between their viewports and, sure enough, the shield flickered blue from the sporadic splatter of rubble and missiles. “The shields are still up!”  
“Eric, the shields are up,” Gretel said. Her voice was faint through static and the many overlapping channels.   
“Gretel?”  
“The shields are still up, over. I repeat, the shields are up.”  
“Son of a bitch…” he muttered. “Overlord, this is Bravo Two One, the shields are up, over! I repeat, the shields are up!”  
“Reading you loud and clear, Bravo Two One, over. MAC round is charging. Impact will be timed with pod arrival, over. You’ll be clear, Overlord out.”  
“Timed for arrival? What the hell does that mean, over? Overlord? Say again, timed for impact?”  
N’golo interrupted Eric’s begging cries. “Eric! Focus, over. We need to be ready, whatever happens.”  
“I know, I know. It’s just,”  
“I understand. But keep it under, we have enough to worry about!” An explosion tore apart a triplet of pods. Radio signals that had roared with wild jubilation fell silent. A worried murmur left the lips of a sobbing ODST. Others pffered consolation, meek words. Meaningless, in the situation. Many did not finish their speech before they too fell silent.   
A billowing blue cloud of smoking plasma masked the falling pods. “What the hell is this?” N’golo asked, craning his neck for a better view.   
“No idea, but it can’t be good.” The pods slipped through the cloud and were face to face with the shield. “This is it! Brace yours-”  
The shield fell to pieces. Faster than they could process, a heavenly spear shot from the muzzle of Sunbreaker. It split the shield, crackles of plasma showing the strain. A barrage of pods smashed into the failing cover of plasma, moments too early. Eric’s pod hit the hull hard. His parachute had launched, a fleeting attempt to slow his mad descent, but was severed when the shield reactivated. He tumbled in the pod to the hull, screaming till his voice was shot.  
Bravo Two passed through the acid blue shields easily, timed perfectly with the barrage of rockets and small arms fire. Elated, Gretel glanced upwards. The pod parallel to Dimitra was sliced in half as the shields reactivated. Yellow, billowing, hungry flames chased them eagerly. The husk of the split pod spat at Dimitra’s pod.   
Her viewport shattered instantly, filling her pod with burning debris and still lit hunks of fabric. She screamed in utter terror, until her voice gave out. She was faintly aware of a voice calling her name, rising in volume as her own vanished.  
N’golo witnessed the crash, watching Dimitra’s pod be flung diagonally into the space near the hull. Her screams filled his ears, her pod filling his vision until it slipped under his own. He twisted in his seat, vying for a view. Gretel tried to warn the others about the active shield, but it was no use. N’golo could hardly pick out her voice through the layered, panic-stricken cries across the radio.  
Simon was the second impact, his pod hitting the hull and ripping through smoothly. His door was thrown from the hinges pneumatically, the glass and metal skidded across the amethyst floor like a stone on a pond. Simon clambered out, raising his sniper cautiously. When an almighty bang sent him to the floor, he glanced around and saw Dimitra’s pod, alight and burst open. His sniper slipped from his grasp as he rushed to save his friend. 

Simon saw a prosthetic leg rip a hole in the door, denting the frame and opening it a touch. Dimitra’s focus began to waver when the flames spread like plague and sweat dribbled down her forehead. A ravenous tongue of flame spat at her. She shrieked and withdrew her leg from the door. The ragger impact she had made lacerated her thigh as she drew in her leg. “Shit!”   
Her fingers quivered, coming away from her thigh dripping blood. The wound stung, almost equal to the growing pain she felt from the heat. Simon limped nearer, clasping his hands round the doorframe. He snapped back in pain, his fingers stinging. Black fabric smoked on the steel, the acrid smell of his scorched gloves. “Dimitra, are you in there?”  
“Where else would I be?”  
An impact stopped Simon replying. He hit the deck like a sack of potatoes. As he looked up from the foetal position, a second pod had joined Dimitra’s. It had also smashed open Dimitra’s pod, letting her crawl from it like a chick. It had been Gretel’s pod that caused the damage.  
Gretel herself was alive and unharmed. Her pod door had caused the damage to Dimitra’s pod, which was less severe than Simon had realised. Dimitra’s body was exposed, bit an inferno blocked her exit. She was tossing around like a child having a nightmare. “I think she’s unconscious!”  
“Clearly!” Gretel snapped, peering through the smoke.   
Dimitra was almost ablaze. Her clothing dangled dangerously close to the rising flames and her panic was immense. Gretel tried tirelessly to calm her. “Dimitra, we can free you, just listen to me,”   
Dimitra screamed. Not a helpful reply.  
“Do you still have your synthesiser? That you made the fuel with?”  
“Yes yes, I do, why do you need,” she hissed as metal dropped onto her ankle. “Why do you need it?”  
“To break you out. It’s too hot to do anything else!” Gretel slowed her breathing, steadying herself on all fours. “All I need is your arm. Tell me what I need, and I will handle the rest.”  
“I can’t! I’ll burn!”  
“You’ll die if you don’t!” Simon pleaded.  
“Simon!” Gretel snarled. “You’re not helping!”   
Amazingly, his tone-deaf insistence roused her to action, and she stuffed her arm through the melting glass. An excruciating moan left her lips as the searing pain of liquid glass hit her. The smoke from her scalded flesh made Simon feel sick. “Hurry,” she hissed.  
“What do I need?” Gretel asked, notes of amazement leaking into her voice. Dimitra listed three components, but a sickening realisation gutted her. “I…the components are on my back.”  
“They’re what?”  
“M-my backpack. The components are, are in my backpack.”  
“Oh Dimitra, no no, we’ll…there’s another way!”  
Her screams cut deep into Simon’s soul. Tears welled in his eyes as Dimitra wrenched her arm through the smoking hole in the pod. The glass had cooled enough to become somewhat solid, fusing to her skin. As she pulled away, screaming in torment, the glass left a bizarre, horrific bulge on the steel frame. In the blistering heat and shimmering air, the disgusting lump twitched, as if it were a tumour. Dimitra whimpered in agony. She would have cried, but her tears evaporated from her skin. Soon, her ducts would be emptied.   
She grunted from the effort of twisting her arm to her back. Her mostly unharmed hand gripped her knife. The glowing blade burned as it pressed against her shoulder, smoking the fabric of her backpack as it slid through. It snapped and slid off her shoulder. Her right arm was free enough to simply pull off the strap and toss the bag out of the window. “NOW!” It hardly sounded human. It was a guttural, animalistic sound. Gretel obliged.  
Simons eyes streamed from the heat as he moved closer to the door. “Get it even.” Gretel slathered the viscous solution along the pod door. Her hand stung from the heat, but she powered through. Her heart was heavy for Dimitra, cooking in the steel husk. It was a tragic site, a flickering glow growing beneath it. “How much do we need?”  
“This should do. Now, step back.” Gretel added ignition powder and scurried from the door. “Dimitra, you’ll be out in a second!”  
The door hissed. Powder fizzled, eating away at the blackened steel. It ran like blood down the shell, letting Dimitra roll out onto the hull. She was drenched in sweat, hyperventilating and utterly destroyed. Simon slipped over the cooling steel to hold her. He held her head up, tapping her helmet gently. “Dimitra, are you awake in there?”  
Eric had finally reached the landing site, and whispered a gentle reassurance. He felt sick. Dimitra’s wounds, grievous as they were, still were not the worst he’d ever seen. But regardless, her strength inspired him. “Gretel, keep her down. Stabilise her.”  
“Of course, sergeant. What is our new objective?”  
“New? Same as always,” Eric said.  
“This cannot be. We are but four soldiers. There is no hope to destroy the carrier.”  
Eric heard what she wasn’t saying. It was always suicide. How can we hope to finish it? It didn’t matter to him. He’d go down fighting. But the others… “We wait for backup. Look, there’s the next wave.”  
On time, the pods rained down. Then splattered like rain on concrete. Orange explosions dotted the shield, debris spiralling wildly into space. “Sweet Jesus,” Simon said. N’golo’s jaw dropped. Metal, glass and what he assumed was charred flesh rolled across the plasma sheets, spinning off wildly into oblivion. “Holy shit.” Simon backed away. “They’re never going to make it through.”  
“We’re on our own,” N’golo agreed.  
“No way. We have to get through, tell them what’s going on.”  
“How? Our radio can’t cut through that shield, and even if it could?” N’golo paused, the realisation setting in. “Who’s to say they’ll listen to us?”  
It was useless of him to argue. Eric was already hurriedly trying to establish contact. He wasn’t having any luck. N’golo ran his hands over Dimitra’s feverish skull. Her shivers, hardly visible through the armour, made him cringe. “Eric, it’s no use.”  
Eric didn’t stop. “The shields are up and they are staying that way. Abort drop, I repeat, abort drop, over!”  
“Eric, stop.”  
“Just leave him be,” Gretel suggested.  
“He needn’t waste his breath.” N’golo rose from his crouch beside Dimitra. “Eric, we have more pressing matters.”  
“-Two One, abort over!”  
“Eric!”  
“For god’s sake, N’golo! I have to try!”  
“Just don’t. A MAC round is the only thing going through that shield.”  
“I-” He had to concede, N’golo was right. HE wasn’t transmitting anything audible. Static, maybe. Still…a lump formed in his throat as the pods careened through space. They shattered like eggs on the hard plasma barrier. Skittering wreckage skipped like stones on a placid lake. “Son of a bitch,”   
Simon was burning with fury. “We have to do something. We have to get that shield down, or better yet take this bastard down. I can’t stand by and watch any more soldiers die.”  
“He’s right. There has to be something we can do?”  
Glowing hot shards of jagged metal ripped through the air, missing his raised arms by inches. N’golo swore viciously, dropping to the floor and showering the approaching brute with steaming lead. “Fucker!” Simon let off two rounds, finishing off the brute charging N’golo.   
Meanwhile, N’golo had rushed into the fray and was busy duelling a pair of jackals. He’d not considered that they would start to win. Claws sharp as razors ripped into his flesh, scarlet blood cascading onto the purple hull. He slipped on the slick floor, panicked.   
The avian aliens chittered, preparing to pounce upon him. Empowered by his growing fury, N’golo beat one to the punch. He snatched it by the throat, growling as it choked out what was presumably a string of curses.   
Eric kicked aside the other, spraying rounds into the body. He nodded at N’golo, who forced the jackal to the ground with a sick satisfaction. Its convulsions grew more sporadic, the light draining from its eyes. The second jackal, bleeding and riddled with lead, gurgled in defiance. N’golo, amazed it was alive, launched the first jackal’s corpse onto the second.   
It raised its arms above its face in shock as the corpse fell onto it. N’golo followed it, swinging a left hook into the jackal’s eye socket. The force of the blow caved in its skull and dashed brains and blood across the floor. Panting heavily, N’golo ducked away as plasma scored the hull.   
Simon squeezed the trigger of his sniper before the reticule even crossed over the brute’s skull. A reflex shot he never expected to land. When the brute’s head exploded like a melon, he cheered triumphantly. Gretel hissed at him, hovering over Dimitra like a mother hen. “Get her out of here!” He ordered, pointing at Dimitra. Gretel nodded and began to drag the woman away. As Gretel started to leave, Dimitra coughed a formula to him. “You will be blowing something up, I assume? That is the largest explosive I have.” Deftly, she unlatched her keypad and pushed it, along with her backpack, into Simon’s hands. “You can count on me.”  
He’d hardly slung the pack over his shoulders when a hand slid over his helmet and pulled him by his head. His helmet spun away, landing behind Eric’s feet. He tripped backwards over the obstacle.   
Simon thought he was dead. His neck screamed in pain and he panted wildly, certain his breaths would be the last he ever took. But they weren’t. Puzzled, he slowed his wild breathing and took a brief second to compose himself. The ship had an atmosphere?   
His revelation didn’t matter in the immediate moment however. He looked up to see Eric, sprawled out and struggling with his jammed rifle. Gretel grunted, three cracks coming from her gun. Each soldier fought off an elite brandishing a sword. Simon had to make a choice. Raising his rifle, he let out a breath to steady the barrel.  
The round narrowly skimmed the alien, hardly sparking its shield. “Fuck!” Simon heard a click, and watched with despair in his heart as the blade swung down to Eric. The plasma blade grazed his chest, acrid smoke rising, snatched away in the struggle between N’golo and the elite. He had charged it like a line-backer, hanging desperately from its shoulders like a toddler as it stumbled away.  
N’golo smashed the barrel of his pistol into the mouth of the Elite and emptied the remaining rounds into its skull, following the screaming beast to the floor. Eric pulled him from the corpse, and both shouted in Simon’s direction. He looked to his rear and realized his mistake would cost lives.  
His second round ripped the elite’s innards from its spine, smearing Gretel in gore. Simon raced to her aid. He stumbled over the discarded weapons and ruined corpses. Dimitra was wriggling in pain, the image of agony. Her dismembered limb twitched like a worm. The fresh wound smoked where the blade had connected. Panicked, Simon tried to understand what had happened. Gretel extricated herself from under the body and pushed him aside. She drew her blade, poking at Dimitra with it like she would with a scalpel.   
Eric and N’golo finished the final, dying grunts as they drew nearer. A radio call reverberated inside their skulls. “Sergeant Stevens! Remember me?”. It was the AI they had rescued from the frigate.   
“You? Jesus, I forgot about you at the base!”  
“Yes, I am aware. Thankfully, I did not have to initiate Cole Protocol and self-destruct. Fireteam Phoenix were able to extract me and allow me to continue aiding them. Specifically, by tracking an elite councillor to the battlecruiser we are aboard.”  
“Say again, I thought you said aboard?”  
“Aboard. We are aboard the battlecruiser. Look at your own situation sergeant. It is not too dissimilar. Regardless, I am able to contact you because my access to the covenant battlenet.”  
“Mein gott!” Gretel babbled quickly in German, then realised the others understood none of it. Starting over, she explained. “Battle net access is incredible, as we have all covenant tactical information!”  
“Can you lower the shields? At least get a message out, stop them dropping people to their deaths.” N’golo asked  
“No, unfortunately your carrier has detected my presence and is aiming to reduce my influence.”  
“Fuck,” Eric said  
“Quite. I must inform you, the carrier intends to flee. They appear to be aware they cannot win, but also cannot lose. It is imperative you deny their retreat as they will return with a larger complement. One we cannot hope to defeat.”  
“Why don’t they just call for backup?”  
“I am jamming their communications. It was only upon our simultaneous boarding actions that the degree of stalemate became clear to them.”  
Eric thought for a moment. “You said they’re going to leave? So we need to stop them somehow.”  
“That would be beneficial, yes.”  
“Ok, how?”  
“Disrupt the propulsion system.”  
“In English,” N’golo tapped his foot impatiently.  
“Destroy the engines,” Gretel rolled her eyes at his bluntness.   
Simon slung the backpack onto the ground and passed Gretel the touchpad. “Start typing.”   
The others rushed to catch up. “What’s going on?” N’golo asked.  
“Dimitra’s most powerful explosive should crack the engines, right?”  
“What is the formula?” The AI and Gretel asked simultaneously. Simon recounted it and looked at Gretel with bated breath as she typed. The AI spoke softly. “According to my calculations, yes. It will work.”  
“Oh, thank fuck,” N’golo exhaled. He hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath. The AI sounded as if it was trying to speak, but a harsh crackle cut it off. “Phoenix is under fire. I will aid them and return, troopers. Hurry and deploy the explosive.” The connection ended and the tap of Gretel’s fingers filled the empty air.   
Eric held the canister in his hands. “This is it. Simon, N’golo, pack up. We’ve got a trek ahead.”   
“What about us?” Gretel pointed at Dimitra. She was shaking like a leaf. Her complexion had turned much greyer.   
“Stay there, and don’t die?” N’golo suggested sarcastically   
“Stay down and play dead,” Eric’s eye shifted across the hull. “I don’t know how long we’ll be but, just stay put.”   
The orders were vague and didn’t inspire confidence. Gretel looked down, seemingly aware they were all signing up for suicide. “Good luck you three.” Eric didn’t reply. He didn’t want to speak. To think. He knew that their fate was almost sealed. If they got out of this…it was unthinkable. Inconceivable. If their luck hadn’t run out by now, surely it would come the detonation? Maybe before. Either way, win or lose, this was the end.


	20. Flash and Thunder

It wasn’t an easy march. The distance was an issue, first of all. The assault carrier was a gargantuan vessel, which Simon was vocal in his distaste of. His footfalls grew slower and his breath ragged. “Why the hell is this ship so fucking big?”  
They didn’t reply. He was only talking for the sake of it. N’golo and Eric understood. He was a scared kid who didn’t want to be in silence. Fear did strange things to people. They’d all seen that, the three of them. If they made it out of this, they’d see it again.  
What felt like an eternity, but was probably closer to an hour, passed. They became aware of a violent vibration and overpowering rumble. It grew clearer as they continued forward. The ship was vibrating violently, chopping their legs like a ship crashing over waves. “We must be getting closer to the engines!” Eric strained to be heard over the roar. N’golo nodded, mouthing the news to Simon. Relief passed over his haggard face, and his lips rose in a weak smile.   
Their feet slipped around the purple metal of the hull, like walking on an ice rink. Eric stumbled ahead, trying to gauge the distance to their target. To their immediate right, a few hundred metres away, a towering city-structure loomed. It flashed with activity, like a nest of hornets. It was begging to be disturbed, to let loose a swarm of covenant thirsting for their blood. Eric tried not to think about it. N’golo took a wary glance at the structure, then lowered his eyes to Simon, who was trembling. “You ok, kid?”  
“Yeah. Definitely. It’s just the vibration,” Simon said.   
N’golo nodded. They both knew it was a lie, and both were aware of the other’s realisation. But N’golo said nothing. He’d been in Simon’s shoes once. He knew what it was to be utterly terrified. But he’d learned to hide it.  
N’golo put a reassuring hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Looks like this is it,”  
“Uh-huh,” Eric muttered. His eyes scanned the ridge of the stern of the ship. “This is place alright. Now how do we get the bombs into it?”  
“We’ll figure something out,” N’golo said reassuringly. “We always do.”  
A spectral blue mist was rolling out of the engines, which were unseen, buried below the ridge. Their exhaust, propulsion, whatever it was, the sickening blue mist, faded out into the dark vacuum of space. Unnatural tendrils, darker, more solid blue strings reached out through the gas, pulling and weaving it. Eric suddenly realised what the colour reminded him of. Nuclear reactor cooling water. The thought made him shudder. Whatever happened when they blew this up, it wouldn’t be good.   
A sharp crackle derailed his train of thought. The AI was speaking to him, and he only really tuned in half way through. “I’m going to need you to repeat everything you just said,” Eric said. With a sarcastic sigh, the AI managed to dampen the sound through their helmets enough to be heard.  
“If you are struggling with the approach, listen to my advice. Your suits are, if you recall, equipped with magnetic soles for extravehicular activity, such as this. Sergeant, take the pack, if you would.” Eric grabbed the pack from Simon, looking around for reassurance. He saw where this was going, and he didn’t like it. “Good. Now, you are going to want to shoulder the pack, this climb will not be easy.”   
Eric was leaning over the ridge, staring out into oblivion rolled out benath him. “Your boots will maintain the grip, you merely need to keep moving.”  
“I hope you’re not afraid of heights, sarge!” Simon joked.  
“No, not at all,” Eric lied, shuffling along warily.

He never would have thought it, but Eric found peace in his walk. The engines drowned out all noise, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Even those, he could hardly hear. Hoping it would steel his resolve, and not destroy it, Eric opened his eyes wide and looked out across the view below him. Or perhaps it was above. Space was confusing.  
From his position, Eric could no longer see the clattering impacts of the war, pods smashing like eggs on the shields. He was unable to see the frigates, darting like mice dodging the vicious cat from which he currently hung. Instead, he saw a vista worthy of the Louvre.   
Haven’s scarred surface was the focus, inky black space the backdrop. Specks of pearly light, stars and galaxies abound, pocked the space between. Like the stars, scorched warzones dotted Haven, stretching far beyond the horizon. Debris, the scattered parts of ships and stations, curved round the planet like a belt. Haunted by countless lost souls, scattered into the harsh nothing of space. They were forever condemned to limbo, unable to reach heaven or hell. And above it all, like an indifferent, deity raining down light and energy, were the engines.   
Three gargantuan cylinders. Wide as an ocean, extending deep into the bowels of the ship. “You sure this is safe?” Eric looked warily at the harsh blue glow.  
“Of course. If your throw is accurate enough, and the explosives provided by Simonides are sufficient, the engines will undergo catastrophic malfunction.”  
“What about our way out?”  
“You will have more than enough time to depart, sergeant. Now please, continue closer to the propulsion system.”  
Eric shuffled ever closer down the hull. His feet didn’t feel like moving, or maybe he didn’t want them to move. Either way, he struggled to close the distance. A burning heat started to push against his face and the light grew brighter. It stung his eyes to look for too long. “I feel like I’m burning up!”  
“Increase polarisation on your visor, and maintain your focus, sergeant. Much hangs on your shoulders.”  
“Alright, fine, fine.” He cleared his throat, marching onward as if through deep water.  
A few minutes later, he was as close as he was going to get. “Is this close enough?”  
“Indeed. This distance is sufficient for our purposes. Ready yourself sergeant, it is imperative you rupture at least one engine, to ensure the ship cannot flee.”  
“What happens if I hit more than one?”  
“More damage I cannot foresee will occur. I would recommend aiming at the main junction, to be certain the explosion reaches the main path to the fuel core.”  
“Sure. I can do this. Just like being bowler in cricket.”  
The pack was heavy in his hands, pulling closer to the ship, then out into the engine’s gravity well, then back to the ship. He would only have one shot. His hands were shaking in time with his racing heart-beat, sweat pouring down his back. He pulled back his arm, swinging it towards the engines and let the pack fly.   
It flew alright. Flew like an owl. Intensely ugly but exceedingly deadly. The pull of the engines sucked it in closer, ripping it directly into the bright blue heart. The explosion was small at first, a speck of dull orange light amidst a vibrant blue sea. Then it began to spread. Violently. The flames grew in size until they were hungry finger, tearing away the oxygen beneath the shield. The pull into the core was immense, and sheer willpower kept Eric on the edge.   
He staggered back as the ship rocked. Debris flew out, sparking against the shields. A chunk of metal crashed into the hull twenty metres to his right. It dug deep, shattering the armour and exposing circuits and pipes. They glowed hot, expelling steam and sparks. “This looks severe,” Eric noticed.  
“Did it work?” Simon asked, dragging Eric by the arms onto the upper hull. He was about to reply when the ship shook so violently they were thrown from their feet. A rushing cyan flame billowed from under the ridge, scorching the hull and flaring the shield. It rose higher and higher, rushing over them with a noise like a wind tunnel. A hundred metres further down, it dissipated, violently spewing ash and smoke down onto the cold metal.   
From within the thick smog of ash, Eric glimpsed the launching of drop pods and transport ships from the belly of the carrier. “Whatever you did worked,” N’golo chuckled. It sounded like disbelief. It was hard to tell, with the ringing in his ears. “Damage seems worse than we planned. And the shield is still up.”  
“So, we can’t get out of here?” Simon asked  
“I-“ Eric tried to speak. His mouth opened but nothing came out. You dumb kid. You idiot. We were never getting out of here in the first place, and now you do this? Make me feel this guilty? God. N’golo spoke for him. “We’ll figure something out, Simon. For now, keep moving.”  
It was a rough march, the rocking ship and persistent ashy fog made it feel like walking through soup. Hot, suffocating, acrid soup. Still, the pressed on. N’golo managed to contact Gretel, telling her, rather bluntly, to get moving and meet them. Eric meanwhile, struggled to get outside aid. “Sparky,” Eric tried to get the attention of the AI. “Sparky, we need to talk. Now.”  
“Sergeant, my designation is not Sparky, now if you would explain your distress?”  
“I think I hit the ship too hard. This carrier is burning like a wicker man and we’re still aboard. But the shields are still up and their guns are still firing.”  
A few agonising moments of silence passed. The AI murmured. More silence. Then, “sergeant, I have difficult news.”  
“I miscalculated, or rather, you exceeded my expectations.”  
“I don’t know whether you should be flattered,” Simon joked nervously. He wrung his hands, shrinking down under Eric’s derisive gaze. “Your throw exploded at the conjunction of the three engines. As such, the detonation managed to damage each engine severely, beyond anything the covenant is capable of fixing.”  
“Ok, I don’t see the issue here,”  
“That has led to wildcat destabilisation and chain reactions of explosions. Unable to admit defeat, the covenant is maintaining their course. The admiral intends to go down with his ship.”  
“He’s taking us with him.” N’golo ran his hands over his helmet and threw them out in frustration. “Fuck!”  
“N’golo,” Eric said gently.  
“I can’t believe it.” He put his hands on his hips, looking side to side. Eric recognised the stance. It was his thinking stance. “N’golo mate…there’s no way out of this. A MAC can’t get through that shield, what hope do we have?”  
“We have to try, Eric. We have to do something.” He looked back at Eric, eyes wide and wild. Eric backed away, terrified by the primal madness he saw. “I won’t go quietly. I won’t go without a fight. If this is the end, if this admiral wants to kill me, I’ll bloody his nose first.” Eric shook his head bitterly. Unable to look N’golo in the eyes, he addressed both him and Simon. “I told you this was a suicide mission. I told you nobody was coming back. But we did it. We crippled this ship and the planet will live. Isn’t that enough?”  
N’golo stopped raging outwardly, but rage bubbled beneath his skin. “Enough? I think I speak for us all when I say, none of us want to die. Not even you, no matter how noble and majestic you talk it up.”  
“Watch yourself,” Eric glared. He could hardly muster the effort to be insulted. He kept moving, trying to piece together something of what was going on inside that battlecruiser. The AI had left a somewhat open channel, disrupted by gunfire and static and the ever-present rumble of destruction. He didn’t imagine the cruiser had much life left in it. Maybe less than their own carrier.  
“Sergeant!” Two voices spoke at once. The inhuman command of the AI, and Gretel’s dulcet tones. Eric, who had been bent double from exertion, ragged breaths filling his helmet, looked up like a startled meerkat. Dull crunches made him turn, and as he did, he cried out in grief.   
“Sergeant Stevens, we must speak!”   
Gretel flinched as a spike buried in her back.   
“Immediately! The situation has escalated,”  
Gretel fell in a bloody heap. Dimitra’s outstretched arm slowed her descent but she still smashed into the hull, unable to move.  
“Fireteam phoenix have been compromised and are evacuating. If you are hearing this message, respond!”  
Eric’s rifle erupted in golden fire. Hot lead spewed downrange, spraying sticky blood from the triumphant elite.   
“My control is failing, I cannot maintain this connection. Please respond, time grows short,”  
Two more guns joined Eric’s, a furious chorus of death. Gretel groaned as dull pain shot through her body.  
“This is my final transmission. Fireteam phoenix has successfully evacuated the battlecruiser. I intend to maintain a collision course with the assault carrier. All UNSC forces move to safe distance.”  
Eric didn’t hear any of it. He didn’t really process it. He couldn’t process any of it. He couldn’t process that the motionless woman in his arms was Gretel. The blood on his hands was Gretel’s. The ground underneath their feet was about to explode. They were stranded on a doomed ship. Nothing made sense.   
N’golo’s hand gripped Eric’s shoulder too hard. “Eric, Eric!”  
“What?” Eric was holding back tears.   
“We need to remove the spike. Remove it, seal the wound. I can’t do that alone. I need someone to pull and I need someone to hold her still and I need someone to inject the biofoam.”  
“I-okay. Okay.” He took some deep breaths and held his trembling hands to his chest.   
Simon was already searching for a biofoam injector. He tossed it to N’golo, who twisted the cap. “We’re primed.”  
“Who’s doing what?” Simon looked at Gretel with growing concern. Her pained moans were growing fainter. N’golo passed Simon the injector and held Gretel’s struggling arms down. “Press the nozzle into the wound and push down the cap. Understand?”  
“Nozzle into wound, push down cap. Got it.” Simon knelt beside Gretel, the injector pressed against her gut. N’golo looked to Eric, who was staring at the spike with abject terror. “On your go, Eric.”  
The spike came out violently. It wasn’t smoothed, instead savage barbs ran down its length. Gristle came out with the cooling steel, blood sprayed across his visor. Simon pressed the cap, steaming white foam sinking into Gretel’s open abdomen. She screamed until her voice cut out. Or perhaps she’d passed out. Eric didn’t have time to ask. She shot upright, eyes wild with panic. She scrambled to her feet, looking wildly for Dimitra. She gripped her tightly. Simon tried to calm her, but he didn’t have chance to open his mouth.  
On the bridge of Sunbreaker, Jean had seen everything. The entire assault. A failed assault, some might call it. Pyrrhic victory, she called it. Or it would be a victory, if it paid off.  
She’d seen the pods falling. Seen them impact with the shields. She’d felt the hits on her own ship. The destructions of the engines, that she had seen. The rosy after print still appeared when she blinked. A brief reminder. She’d been holding her breath up until that point. Hope was gone until then. It returned with a rush, like the rush of smoke under the shield. When the AI had informed her the spartans were returning, she watched for the phantom like a hawk. Sure enough, it was there.  
All that had been something understandable. She’d seen failed insertions before. Daring evacuations. Hijacked phantoms. It was only when the battlecruiser began to move that she was stunned into silence. The ship was like a spear, lancing at incredible speed towards the crippled assault carrier. When it hit, she had never seen anything like it.   
Rivulets of burning fuel ran down the hull. Rubble rained down into the atmosphere. Their hot trails like shooting stars. It was an explosion so forceful, so unimaginably powerful that the rippling shockwave cracked the viewport. It shuddered the ship, so violently she almost fell. Only when the smoke had cleared and her ears had stopped ringing did she accept it happened.   
Eric coughed. Once. Twice. Three times. He sat up, gasping. His ears were ringing, but he could tell the air around him was silent. His eyes burned and his lungs stung. A pounding behind his eyes told him he was alive, and he would be damned if he died on this god forsaken ship.  
He rolled onto his stomach, crawling agonisingly slowly towards N’golo. He opened his mouth, but no words would come out. Or if they did, he never heard them. His friend was still, rising up. Ascending to heaven? No, he was breathing. He was floating? Wires suddenly connected in Eric’s head. The battlecruiser had rammed the carrier. It had broken the shields and, from the looks of it, just about finished off the carrier. It was surely minutes before it erupted into a supernova. But most importantly, the shield was down. Which meant N’golo was floating in a vacuum. When Eric pulled him back down, he did not let go.  
Gretel hadn’t let Dimitra free of her iron grip, and her dwindling consciousness had known her job was to remain with a strong hold. Now she was fully moving again, the broken woman was once again being supported by her colleague and she would never be released. Simon followed her, limping in pain. They mouthed to each other, confused. “Is she alive?” Simon mimed to Gretel as silent words left his lips. Gretel nodded, giving thumbs up. Simon sighed in relief.   
Eric, dragging N’golo behind like a kite, staggered over to the trio. His boots were still magnetised, thankfully, and it appeared theirs were too. They waved him over and Gretel tapped her helmet’s temple. Eric was puzzled for a moment, but the mouthed furiously at him. “Radio?” he asked. They nodded excitedly.   
Ball was still reeling from the impact when an officer called her over. “Ma’am, we’ve got a signal. Its weak, but it’s coming from the carrier!”  
“Isolate it!” The carrier? Impossible, surely? Yet sure enough, someone was speaking from the surface of the carrier. The speaker didn’t seem aware of the volume of their voice, nor the incredibly weak connection which was full of static and never seemed stable. “Captain. If you’re hearing this, it’s sergeant Eric Stevens, we’ve met. My team and I are stranded on the carrier with no possible way to escape. The shields are down and I don’t reckon they’re coming back.” Ball leaned in closer, enraptured by the plan. It was insane, but in their situation sanity wouldn’t get them out alive.  
The ODSTs looked out from the carrier. An abyss was stretched out below them, with the speck of dust Sunbreaker hurrying towards them. It grew larger every second. The ringing had subsided enough that they could hear each other if they yelled, which they currently were. “Are you sure about this plan?” Eric asked Gretel, who nodded fiercely. “Do you trust me?”  
“Well yeah, but,”  
“Then shush.”  
“Well, she’s coming closer.” Simon was shaking like a leaf.  
“Is she going in manual?” N’golo shifted Dimitra’s weight in his shoulder. She was conscious, barely, but she was unable to support her own weight. She’d was already in critical condition, but they all would be if they survived the next thirty seconds.  
On approach, Sunbreaker was rattling like a loose washer. The frigate was practically a floating piece of debris, ready for repair or, more likely, decommission. But she had a job to do. And so did captain Ball. Jean had taken manual control of the frigate. It was rough going, nothing like the longswords she had piloted so long ago. It was heavy, the flight equivalent of an eighteen-wheeler, but it was working. Whether it would continue to work remained to be seen. “We’re on approach, Bravo Two,” a crewman said, filling in the soldiers on every detail of the operation. It would require meticulous coordination, and a healthy dose of luck.  
The carrier was vaguely aware of the foolish frigate, racing to attack them in their moment of weakness. They were alone, and they were weak, yes, but they still had a powerful weapon they had yet to use. The shipmaster ordered the main excavation beam to be charged, ready to fire on the approaching human craft. They would teach them the vengeance of the Prophets, and the might of their Holy Covenant.  
Eric watched as the frigate moved ever closer, counting down as it approached. “On three, ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “One. Two. Three!” They leapt into the void, falling quickly through the vacuum, tumbling over and over, spinning wildly out of control. Now came the more difficult part. Gretel’s mind was racing. She trusted physics and it was her plan, but she was still terrified. As the frigate drew nearer, passing maybe twenty metres below the carrier, they reached it. Seconds before impact, they tossed their weapons down to the frigate. The clattered noiselessly onto the steel. Their owners followed immediately after.   
The soldiers smashed legs first into the steel grey hull of the frigate. Or maybe the frigate had hit them. Regardless, it hurt like hell. Simon felt his legs break. Shatter was more accurate. He dragged himself to Gretel, who wasn’t conscious, sprawled on the hull. N’golo and Eric didn’t want to imagine the damage they sustained, holding Dimitra above their heads.   
Delirious, dying. Desperately, Eric looked for something to help them. He didn’t know what. He didn’t know. He just knew he had to help them, all of them. He faintly saw something, people? People, rushing for them. Holding boxes and tools. He blacked out as they gripped him, letting out a faint breath.  
Jean saw the glow. It emanated from the belly of the carrier, a bloody red beam ready to annihilate them. She had doomed them all for five soldiers. She thrust the ship down, as far from the carrier is possible. It had been sinking lower to the planet since the engines were destroyed. Now, it was almost in low orbit. The Sunbreaker raced ruin for the atmosphere. As she trembled with fear and anticipation and terror, Jean tried to coordinate something, anything to aid them. “Charge the MAC. As fast as possible, all power to engines and the gun!”  
“Ma’am?”  
“Do as I say!” She hissed, closing her eyes. Her neural lace flashed a HUD in the darkness, giving her full view from the barrel of the MAC gun. She had one shot.  
Inside the maw of the frigate, a shard of tungsten began to heat up, spinning slowly at first. As the heat rose, it spun faster and faster, whirring and humming. Still in control of the frigate, which was burning, scorching from re-entry, she whirled it around, wildly oversteering. The tail end of the frigate swung out wide, pushing the barrel of the MAC aside. The carrier entered Jean’s field of view.   
The pressure had become unbearable. Jean pulled an imaginary trigger, and loosed the shard like a bolt from a crossbow. It passed straight through the heart of the glassing plate, slicing the carrier in half. When the mining beam was released, it detonated the weakened reactor and exploded so violently, Jean would never forget it. The battlecruiser’s destruction seemed akin to a firecracker in the wake of the unknowable destruction of the carrier.


	21. All Gone

A tinny speaker played a soft song. The tune was so sweet, she could taste it, like honey. Her head was floating on a cloud of smooth feathers, buried in a thick, warm duvet. A smile appeared on her face, wide and genuine. Her first true, joyous smile in a long time. She stretched, running her arms through the silky-smooth bedding. Only, she didn’t feel her arm. Her eyes snapped open. Wide. She sat up, trying to prop herself on her forearms. Instead, she tumbled into the mattress, face first. It took her a moment to realise what had occurred. “Oh no.” She looked down, dreading what she would find. She peeled back the pressed white medical gown, sliding it off her shoulder. A charred stump was all that remained of her arm.  
The scream that followed woke Eric from his slumber and he rolled out of bed. His mind raced. Where was he? Something had happened, they’d been boarded. Those people weren’t friendly. Rebels? No? His thoughts shattered like glass as he landed. He woke the others, screaming in agony as his damaged legs hit the tiled floor. His clenched fists slowly unfurled and he resigned himself to being on the floor a while.   
N’golo looked down from his gurney opposite Eric’s and tried to stifle a chuckle. “Having a hard time there?”  
“No, no, I can cope,”  
“I’d offer a helping hand but,” He pulled the duvet back, revealing his legs, cast in plaster. Eric grunted and pulled himself onto the gurney, knocking a vase to the floor as he did so. “Useless,” N’golo grinned  
“This isn’t as fun or painless as it looks, so stow it,”  
“Gentlemen, if you would?” Gretel said calmly, gesturing at Dimitra, who was slowly regaining her composure.  
Gretel cooed reassuringly “Don’t worry, this will all be fine”. Eric and N’golo twiddled their thumbs metaphorically, uncomfortable with their situation. In the ensuing process, they merely watched and smiled encouragingly, waiting for her to calm down.   
They could almost see her panicked heart pounded through her chest. Her face was red and lathered in sweat, tears filling her eyes. She closed them, blinking rapidly. Maybe she hoped what she was seeing wasn’t true. It couldn’t have set in yet.   
Waiting for Dimitra to be coherent once more, Eric ased Gretel. “What happened?”   
“I was hoping you could tell me, Eric.” Gretel kept a watchful eye on Dimitra. N’golo coughed quietly. “Is she going to be alright?”  
“Are any of us?” Eric said, rhetorically.  
“Not likely, unfortunately,” Gretel said, in little more than a whisper.  
“Was it worth it, though?”  
“Yes,” Eric said plainly. “It was worth it, because they’re all gone.”   
“What do we do now?” Dimitra said, her voice like a breeze.  
In the months following, much was happening. They were, for a start, healing. But so was the planet. Much of the landscape damaged by the war would heal, but some would not. Too much.  
Bravo Two were seated in wheelchairs or on crutches, being addressed by captain Ball, alongside Phoenix Team. The captain was giving a rousing speech, congratulating them on their efforts. They didn’t need to hear it. If questioned about their actions, they all would give the same answer. They had done what was needed. What was expected. As Ball pinned the Colonial Cross to each soldier’s lapel, their salutes were empty. Hundreds upon thousands of souls, beyond the city boundaries and within, deserved the award. Ball rounded out her speech by saying “Let us not forget those who have passed and will not return. May it not be said we have forgotten the dead. We shall honour them and celebrate their lives, for it is they who have truly given everything for us. They gave their tomorrow, for our today.”  
A rifle slipped into the dust. The recruit quickly snatched it back up and pulled the trigger, expecting a round to fly into his target. When it clicked, he looked down, puzzled. N’golo sighed and lifted it from his hands. “It jammed, so keep it clean! If dirt gets in the mechanism, it won’t fire”. The recruit nodded and swallowed, pulling back the bolt and ejecting the round. Three more were similarly struggling with their weapons.   
“Kids these days,”  
“You’re beginning to sound like Eric,” Gretel giggled. It was a different sound for them both, after the battle. “Oh, come off it, I’m not that old yet.”  
“I don’t know, some of those hairs look a little grey,” she smirked, brushing her loose blonde hair behind her ears. N’golo scoffed and returned his attention to the recruits.  
A new generation. Green as grass, Eric would have said. N’golo briefly wondered how he was doing with his detachment. A sudden realisation dawned on him; they would likely never meet again. N’golo’s assignment to a new cruiser, his own squad, separate from Eric’s, shrank their chances of reunion to almost none. At least he had Gretel.   
When she first heard he was being reassigned, she was shocked. His ‘emotional instability’ had prohibited him from direct command for a long time. Gretl had argued against punishing a man for his compassion, but they had been adamant. For N’golo to be promoted, finally, astonished them both.   
But it also meant waving goodbye to an old friend. It had been a tearful farewell, but she was coping. Soon they would have moved far away, and the events of the past month would be distant memories. She would never truly forget, she told herself. And it was true. She never knew how short her life could be. A dangerous business, her father had described it. That had been her calling. Psychology, but not in an office, behind a desk. From a battlefield. Behind the barrel of a gun.  
Dimitra’s arm tingled. It was a new sensation, and the twinges of pain were quite horrific. But not unexpected. From the moment her arm had been severed, she had known the pain would be with her forever. It had been like that when she lost her leg. This time, she had come to terms with it far faster. But she’d never truly be over it. It would be with her forever. Phantom pains to remind her of the loss. To remind her of the worst times of her life. But also, some of the best.   
It had been hard at first. The prosthetic was powerful, but it was no match for an organic piece of flesh and bone. Her rifle had sunk and swayed when she gripped it, but a mouse? Keyboard? Those remained steady. So, tentatively at first, she returned to a lab. Documenting others actions and discoveries. Then, with little gusto, she had taken up a flask and boiling tube again. Her initial attempts had shied away from the true work, but soon she was lavishing in her past life. It brought a tear to her eye to see the return to her truest passion.   
“If it works, you’ll have 20/20 vision. Controlled zoom, thermal and night vision.”  
“And if it doesn’t?”  
“We sever tendons and you die.” Simon’s gasp elicited a heavy laugh from the surgeon, who waved his hand. “I’m kidding of course. We remove it and try again.” With that, they’d convinced him to go under. The milky white orb flecked with crystalline pink shards was removed, and a top of the range prosthetic took its place. Thankfully, it didn’t kill him in the process.  
Training. His new mandate. Not entirely his choice, but it suited him. Simon had been pulled aside and asked about the events by a scientist who seemed awfully familiar. Catherine something. Honsley? No, but similar. She had asked him about the events and proposed he be chosen to help hand pick recruits for a new, secret project. Meshing the ODSTs with bio-engineering. He had refused of course, until he mentioned it to Eric, who had told him about researchers. Scouts and trainers and all sorts of weird, unique jobs. Well paid, low risk. Simon had caved eventually, and returned. Accepting her offer.  
Now, he was marching beside her, watching a mass of ODSTs glare at them. One had a glint of hope in his eye. The other? Her red hair was slicked back and her steely eyes were filled with determination. He could tell. “Her,” he whispered to the scientist, who nodded and had her pulled away. “Palmer, S. She will be considered.”  
Eric returned to the base where Danny had been killed, and he wept. For his fallen comrade, but also for all of them. Every man in his squad who had joined and never left. The most tragic thing was, he couldn’t remember them. Not all, at least.   
He had been fighting so long, seen so many young, brave men and women, some only really boys and girls sent to their deaths, they all blended into one amorphous mass. It would be long time before he forgot the faces of his team now, however. They were all going their separate ways, but he would always remain in Bravo Two.   
From his office at the outpost where it all began, a reedy man called to him. “Sergeant major, we have visitors!”  
“I’m coming now.” He slipped his aviators from his top pocket and marched into the blazing sun on the flat plateau. Four men and a woman stood before him. “Well, go on. Introduce yourselves”  
“I’m Private Joseph Mitchell,”  
“I’m Private First-Class Marcus Irons, Sergeant,”  
“Private Jack Ryan, sir,”  
“I’m Corporal Moira Richie,” the woman said.   
Eric looked at them with a mix of disdain and joy. He wrung his hands together and nodded. “Alright, let’s get started.”


End file.
